Rain
by shippershape
Summary: Clarke is injured when there is an intruder in the camp. Bellamy helps her and they realize that in order to survive and keep everyone else safe they have to work together. This is the story of their uneasy alliance.
1. Chapter 1

Rain. Until recently it was only something Clarke had heard about. Her parents would weave it into stories about the ground, this mystical idea that water just fell out of the sky. It had spoken to Clarke about the easiness of earth, the intrinsic system of cycles that somehow worked naturally in harmony to sustain the planet. She had always thought there was something beautiful about the sincerity of it. In comparison, the forcedness of the constant maintenance and repairs to the ark seemed unnatural. She remembered lying on her cot, listening the steady mechanical thrum and imagining what it might be like to be a part of something so organic.

Now she heard nothing. It was quiet, unfamiliarly so. A few seconds ago the rain had been pelting her makeshift tent with such voracity that she could have sworn the sky was throwing itself at her. Water, she mused, made more noise than she could ever have imagined. Her fingers trailed off the edge of the waterproof material she was using as a bed and touched the damp earth. It was cold, and she pressed her palm into it, feeling the moisture seep out from the compressed dirt. All that water, which had been so loud as it came down, now sat silently in the earth.

It was the opposite of people.

People had evolved here, from beings that were supposed to be their intellectual inferiors. Was it intelligence, Clarke wondered, that had lead to the nuclear war that scorched the earth? Maybe human beings were capable of abstract thought, but that thought had done more damage to the planet than any supposedly less intelligent species could ever threaten. They had evolved until they thought themselves gods, and then like gods they had destroyed themselves with that hubris. After laying waste to the land that had given them rise they had died, and the few that survived would never see their home again. Until now.

Clarke dug her fingers into the ground, holding it as though afraid she might fall away. It was still amazing to have something so solid between her fingers, beneath her body, her feet. In the ark, she had been raised not to fear the isolation of their vessel. The fragility of the system that sustained life for the entire population of their species was all she had ever known, and so she had not been afraid. Then one day she had overheard a conversation between her parents, and it had changed everything. Everything that she knew, every comfort she had taken for granted had been ripped away and she had found herself facing the most blanket terror imaginable. They were going to die. Their lifestyle, their home, it had never been meant to last. And so suddenly the only barrier separating Clarke from the vacuum of space had seemed suffocating.

Here, on the ground, they could survive. They could breathe without stealing breath from their children. They could expand, raise families. They would have the space, and the resources to detain and hold criminals without the threat of certain execution. They could _live_. But only if they knew. And right now, Raven's slim chance of fixing a radio with their very limited resources was the only hope the group on the ground had of contacting the ark. If they failed, everyone on the ark would die. The oxygen would run out, and slowly but surely every last member of the human race would fall into a sleep from which they would never wake.

There was a sudden crack of lightning and Clarke jolted upright. There were so many phenomena in space. Some of them were accompanied by light, or fire, some more subtle and yet not any less beautiful. But they didn't have thunderstorms. Clarke counted, like her mother had once told her the grounders had done before the war. Twenty-seven, and then the thunder came. She marveled at it.

Her community, the band of delinquents sent down as a test to gauge the radiation, was the first group of humans to hear thunder in centuries. She wondered if anyone else was awake, listening in awe rather than fear. There was so much to be afraid of here. And somehow the thunder was like a sign, ominous and looming but more of a warning than a danger.

Suddenly, there was a noise outside Clarke's tent. It didn't sound like any of the animals she had come to be familiar with. She tensed, holding her breath as her ears strained to catch something else. There were a few soft thuds, almost like footsteps. The noise was steady, but it was also growing steadily quieter, like it was moving away. Frowning, she pushed herself to her feet. She grabbed her jacket, which had been hung off a stick poked into the ground to keep it dry. As she pulled it around herself, Clarke shivered, glad the rain had stopped. After a few days, the novelty of constantly being wet had worn off, and she didn't relish the idea of hiding naked in her tent while her clothes dried above the fire. She stepped out into the cold night, and paused as her eyes searched the darkness.

At first she couldn't see a thing but the vague silhouette of the trees cast from the dying embers of the fire. Then, slowly, her eyes adjusted to the near complete lack of light, and she saw a flicker of movement beyond the wall. Her heart gave a little lurch. They had just gotten Octavia back from the grounders, was it possible that they had been followed back to camp?

She bit her lip, making a decision. She couldn't wake the whole camp and send them into a panic, not without knowing for sure that there was a threat. She had learned her lesson after watching Charlotte step backwards into that cavern. She still saw it, more nights than not, when she closed her eyes. It was strange, but she remembered reaching for Bellamy, her hand groping pointlessly in the air. She hadn't meant to. She hadn't even realized she was doing it until her hand found his sleeve, and clenched. The look he had given her had been equally strange. There was something mixed in with the shock, the grief. Something a little kinder.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke started towards the wall. The voice in her head was screaming that this was a bad idea, that she should turn back, but she ignored it. This was her camp. Bellamy would never admit it, but she was as responsible for what happened to these people as he was. Although, knowing Bellamy, he would simply brush her off and make a passing remark about how it was every man for himself. She had to protect them. As she neared the wall, Clarke could feel herself being watched. She could sense an unnatural stillness, like she wasn't the only one holding her breath. There was a noise to her right and she spun around, only to be knocked forcefully onto her ass.

Laying there, winded, she fought against the pounding of her heart. She needed to stay calm. Suddenly, a face appeared directly above hers. She bit back the scream that built in her throat as she tried to press herself deeper into the ground. She had nowhere to go, but she couldn't help trying to put distance between herself and the mask that only vaguely resembled a human face. Eyes, huge and mostly black in the dark, were the only human feature Clarke could see. They weren't covered by the mask, which resembled the tangled roots of a dying tree. Black and twisting, they covered her assailants face. But his eyes stared out at her.

As though coming to her senses, Clarke kicked at his ankle, sending him sprawling sideways. As he struggled to get to his feet, Clarke leaped to hers, and turned, running towards the section of the wall they called the gate. Before she could reach it, a hand snared around her ankle, and she slammed into the ground. Something pressed on her stomach, sending searing pain along her side. Reaching behind her, she struck out. As her hand came into contact with something solid, the attacker swore, and Clarke froze. She knew that voice.

"Murphy?" She twisted herself around, and grabbed at the mask. It fell away, exposing the face of the exiled criminal. He sneered at her, but she was too distracted by the long scar running the side of his face to be riled by it.

"Hey princess. Hasn't anyone told you it's dangerous to walk these woods at night?" His voice was hoarse and uneven, as though it hadn't been used in days. Clarke tried to sort through the chaos of her mind for a coherent thought. Her eyes drifted towards the shiv he had made for himself at camp, the blunt end bent into a handle. His hand was clenched around it, something dark dripping from the blade.

"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice came out louder than intended, but it was steady. She silently thanked a higher power that it didn't betray the fear. She scurried backwards, out from underneath the cage of Murphy's arms. He didn't stop her.

"Sometimes the kids on watch aren't paying attention." Murphy's eyes began to roam Clarke's body in a way that made her skin crawl. He was right. Where was the patrol now? Was anyone even awake? "I can sneak in and take what I need to survive." He moved closer.

Clarke continued to back up, slowly, hoping he wouldn't chase after her again.

"You were banished from camp. You shouldn't be here." Her hands clenched into fists as Murphy kept pace with Clarke, refusing to allow her to put any more distance between them.

"I'm not in camp. You built this great wall here. I'm pretty sure it marks the edge of your territory." He smirked, the still bloody scar puckering. "And it looks like you're in my territory tonight."

"That was you outside my tent." Clarke's eyes narrowed. "You were stealing from us." She couldn't sense how close she was to the wall without turning her back to Murphy, and she didn't trust him not to throw a knife into it.

"Well, now that I know that's your tent, maybe I'll pay you a visit next time." Murphy, who had been steadily inching his way towards her, suddenly stopped. "Stay inside the wall, princess. Next time you won't get off so easy." He turned, before Clarke could process what had happened, and sprinted into the trees. Clarke watched, even after the sounds of his footsteps had faded away. She stepped backwards and discovered that she had been closer to the wall than she thought. Her back hit the wall with a dull thud, and she closed her eyes with an exhale of relief. As the adrenaline ebbed away, she became aware of a persistent pain, somewhere along her ribcage.

Clarke lifted her shirt and inspected the gash running up the side of her abdomen. It was deep, if she had been with her mother she was sure there would have been stitches. As it was, the pain wasn't unbearable, so she dropped her shirt and hurried inside the wall, pushing the gate back into place. The movement seemed to pull at her wound, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Once the gate was closed, Clarke found herself lost. She needed to wash and clean her cut, but its placement would make it difficult to do without hurting herself further. She didn't have many friends in this camp. Allies she had in abundance. But they weren't really people that she could wake up in the middle of the night and get half naked in front of.

Finn's face popped into her thoughts, and she pushed it away. She couldn't get involved with him, he had a girlfriend. The idea of walking into his tent and seeing him with Raven was less appealing than taking her shirt off in front of a stranger. She was sure Octavia would be alone, there was no way Bellamy would let anyone bunk with his sister, but Clarke wasn't sure how useful she would be in this situation. More than likely her hands would shake, and just thinking about the sloppy stitches made Clarke wince. It seemed she had only one option, and she really wasn't looking forward to it.

She made her way to the tent, already regretting her decision, and paused outside. He was rarely alone, and she had a feeling tonight would be no exception. At least she couldn't hear any movement coming from inside, so however many people were inside were probably asleep. She gritted her teeth and ducked inside.

The pain in her side had been growing steadily ever since she closed the gate, and bending over to step inside the tent made her breath hitch in her chest. She took a moment, doubled over, and when she straightened she was face to face with the inhabitant of the makeshift tent.

"Clarke?" His voice was low, but she could feel the tension radiating off of him. She glanced behind him and was surprised to see his bed empty. "What are you doing here?" His eyes followed her movement as she hunched over again, panting through the pain.

"I need your help." Her voice was directed at the ground, and she struggled to straighten up again. When she did, she thought she caught a trace of concern on his face, but then it was gone. "I was attacked." Bellamy stiffened.

"Inside the wall? Who would-"

"No. Outside the wall. It was Murphy." Clarke staggered a little, and put her hand out for balance. To her surprise, Bellamy caught it. He jerked forwards to catch her, his hand grabbing her side directly over her injury. Clarke let out a moan of pain and Bellamy stepped back, confused.

"What-" He glanced down at his hand, which was covered in her blood. "Clarke what happened?" She stared at him for a moment before answering, starting to feel a little light headed.

"I-uh, heard a noise. Outside my tent. I went outside to see what it was, and the gate was open." The pain was starting to seep into her mind, muddling her thoughts. She fought against it. "I thought it might be grounders but I didn't want to wake the camp before I was sure." She didn't meet Bellamy's eyes, but she knew he, like her, was thinking of Charlotte.

"But it wasn't grounders. It was Murphy?" Bellamy frowned. He had been staring at Clarke intently for the past few minutes. She didn't know why, but it was unsettling. "Look, would you sit down before you pass out? I don't need your blood all over my blankets." He nodded towards a piece of scrap metal from the interior of the ship that had been bent into a sort of stool. Clarke sat.

"Yeah, he was wearing a mask. I was barely outside of the wall when he jumped me from behind. I didn't even realize he had cut me until after he was gone." Her words were starting to slur. Clarke could hear it, but she was suddenly too tired to care. She wanted to sleep. "Bellamy…" The effort of keeping her head upright was enormous. It started to tilt forwards.

"Clarke, hey no. You have to stay awake." Bellamy crouched in front of her, giving her shoulder a rough shove. The pain jolted her awake.

"Ow." She glared at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Toughen up princess." His voice was mocking, but there was something in his face that suggested he was worried. Maybe he was human after all. "Did Murphy say anything else?" He turned his back to Clarke. She frowned as the memory came back to her.

"Yeah. He's been stealing. Look, I need your help cleaning this." Clarke shifted uncomfortably in her blood soaked clothes. She was freezing. The shivering set in and her teeth chattered, the jarring movements sending little frissons of pain through her. "I can tell you what he said while you help me." She unzipped her jacket and shrugged it off. Swiveling so her back was to Bellamy, Clarke slowly pulled one of her arms back through the sleeve of her shirt. She winced, but managed to get the other arm through as well. She pulled the shirt off just as Bellamy turned back towards her.

"Woah, what are you doing?" He sounded weird, but Clarke couldn't see his face so she ignored it.

"I need you to clean this, so it doesn't get infected. There was a suture kit in with the supplies I used on Jasper." Bellamy didn't answer, but Clarke kept going. "Do you think you could put in a few stiches without butchering it?"

"Yeah." Bellamy's voice drifted over to Clarke, and she nodded.

"Good."

"Where-"

"In the backpack hanging just inside the pod they sent us down in. There should be some antiseptic and a suture kit." She waited for a response, but none came. Craning her neck, she realized Bellamy was gone. She sighed. He was a murderer, or an attempted one. He was also selfish, cold and angry. He was an asshole, without a doubt. But here she was, in the middle of the night, topless and waiting for him to sew her back together. She didn't like him much, but she did trust him. If his interests weren't opposing hers, she was coming to realize he wasn't as selfish as she had originally thought.

As Clarke lifted her arm, which was beginning to stick to her side due to the blood, she realized her bra was completely soaked. She looked down at it in frustration. It was the only one she had, and it was completely disgusting. Not that anyone was going to see it. Finn had, once. Now Bellamy, she realized, not that he would care. Clarke highly doubted she was his type, seeing as how she didn't follow him around and throw herself at him. Bellamy had his pick of the girls in the camp, he wouldn't burden himself by being interested in the one who wasn't swooning over him.

Plucking at the sticky material, Clarke gave in with a sigh. It was too uncomfortable to leave on. Besides, it would need to be washed. She unclasped it, holding her breath to keep from screaming with pain. When it sprang open she slid it off and folded it in her lap. The only entrance to Bellamy's tent was the way he'd left, and her back was to it. He wouldn't see anything, not in the near void of the darkness.

Clarke jumped when he came back in, her hands flying to cover her chest, even though she knew he couldn't see.

"Jumpy?" His voice was easy, a drastic change from before he'd left. Clarke decided not to mention it.

"I think I might have earned the right to be a little jumpy when I got stabbed." She sighed. "Do you have a flashlight?" The tent flooded with light in answer to her question. She suddenly felt exposed.

"So what am I doing here?" Clarke resisted the impulse to turn around and inspect what he had brought with him. He didn't need to see any more of her than he already was.

"Do you have a bottle labeled isopropanol?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I need you to pour that onto the cut." She winced in anticipation, knowing firsthand the pain that was coming her way. "If I um, scream, just keep going."

"I've heard that before." It was muttered under his breath, but Clarke still heard it. Whether it was from the blood loss, or just the strangeness of the situation she would never know, but Clarke couldn't hold back her laughter. It burbled out and she sighed, a smile resting on her face for the first time in a few days.

"You're an idiot." She bit her lip, waiting for an insulting retort, but Bellamy just sighed.

"Do you really want to be insulting me when I'm about to go sticking things into you?" Clark opened her mouth to respond, but was momentarily at a loss. The innuendo seemed to be lost on Bellamy, which she imagined was a first.

Then, he was pouring alcohol onto her wound and there was no room in her mind for anything else. She cried out, stuffing her fist in her mouth to try and muffle the sound. She tasted blood on her hand, whether it was fresh or from her injury she didn't know, but it distracted her a little. The searing pain slowly subsided, and she pulled her hand from her mouth, gasping.

"Thank you." It seemed absurd, in that moment, that she was essentially thanking Bellamy for torturing her, and another laugh escaped from her throat.

"Anytime." She imagined he was smiling. Something touched her back, and Clarke started. "I'm just wiping some of this blood off. Don't worry, I soaked it in the alcohol first." It stung, but there was something oddly comforting about having someone stroking her back. Even if it was someone you hated. The rhythm of it reminded her of when her father used to rub her back as she lay in bed, and her eyes began to droop.

"You're not-" Her sentence cut off as she fell off the stool. She heard Bellamy swear behind her, then felt his arms around her.

"Damnit! Clarke, wake up!" She tried to open her eyes, struggling against the feeling that gravity was suddenly overwhelming. She tried. But the feeling of someone's arms around her, and the exhaustion of the night's events smothered her, and she finally succumbed to the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the reviews, they've been lovely. I once read that reviews and comments are the currency in which you tip ff writers, so once again thank you and please continue to tip well. No seriously, I love for the reviews. The more interest I get in a story, the more motivated I am to update. Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

"Ow." Clarke moaned. She could feel the sunlight beating down on her through the canvas of her tent. As she stirred, the pain in her side seemed to increase tenfold. She groaned again.

"Shut up." A voice, very male and very annoyed, spoke from right beside her ear. Clarke's eyes flew open. She was in Bellamy's tent, lying propped up on a bunch of folded blankets. Bellamy was lying beside her, sprawled out on his stomach. There was another blanket covering her chest, which she realized was still naked. Clarke sat back and closed her eyes, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.

"You scared me."

"Yeah, well you kept me up all night with your moaning." Bellamy rolled over, opening one eye and squinting at Clarke. "Normally I don't mind that so much, but it's usually more fun for me." Clarke rolled her eyes. Although, now that he mentioned it there was a question she had been wanting to ask.

"Yeah, speaking of that, where was your harem last night?" She raised her eyebrows at him, trying not to think about the pain. She absentmindedly ran her fingers along the cut, and was surprised to feel a dozen or so neat stitches holding it together.

"My harem?" Bellamy's lip twitched. "It's been a long week. I needed my sleep." His eyes locked onto hers for a moment, and a pang of guilt flashed through her. Was she actually feeling bad for him? "What, are you jealous?" He glanced at her and closed his eyes, and Clarke tried not to stare at him. Bellamy, apparently, had also slept shirtless. She had seen him like this before, but there was something more intimate about it here, in his tent, both of them still shaking off the last dregs of sleep.

"Yes. I'm jealous." Bellamy's eyes fluttered open again, and he stared at Clarke, taking in her deadpan expression with interest.

"You know, you're kind of sarcastic for the upper class." Clarke snorted.

"I don't know who you think I am." She turned to glance at him. "But whoever it is, I doubt I'm anything like them." She struggled to sit up properly, wincing. The blanket covering her slipped, and she grabbed for it. Bellamy rolled his eyes.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Clarke." She shot him a nasty look. "You think you're so unpredictable, but here you are, the token virginal princess." Clarke suppressed a smile. Bellamy didn't know everything. She liked having one up on him, even if it was something as inconsequential as her sex life. She frowned, scanning the tent for her clothes. They didn't seem to be anywhere.

"Bellamy?"

"I'm not sleeping with you. Ask someone else to be your first." His voice was muffled, and Clarke turned to see that he was face down in his pillow. She sighed.

"Where are my clothes?" He groaned into his pillow. Clarke wondered what time it was. Ever since the wristbands had stopped working she had been completely lost for time. It had been grounding, having that, and she had taken it for granted. Now they all just guessed.

"I washed them and hung them over the fire. They're probably dry now." He was still talking into his pillow. Clarke really didn't feel like asking him to do her any more favors, but she couldn't exactly go wandering around camp topless. Her gaze settled on a shirt of his, hung over a stick similar to the one she had in her tent. She shot another glance at Bellamy, who seemed to have gone back to sleep. Very carefully, she pushed herself to her feet.

The pain was constant, and it was substantial, but Clarke had once gone for two weeks with a broken arm, afraid to tell her mother, before breaking down and asking for help. The two weeks had been excruciating, but the fact that it had begun to heal crooked and had to be re broken to be set had been even worse. This, she could handle.

She grabbed the hanging shirt, and pulled it gingerly over her head. Quickly, so as not to draw it out, she shoved both arms through the sleeves. The shirt was huge on her, and she had to admit being a little surprised at how big Bellamy must be to fill it out. She had never really noticed. She tried to sneak past Bellamy without waking him, but his legs were longer than she realized, and she tripped over them. Sprawled out in the dirt, once again, Clarke growled with frustration.

"What the hell is going on now?" Bellamy sat up, looking even more irritated than before. "What are you doing?" Clarke stood, brushing the dirt off her shirt. Bellamy's shirt. His eyes seemed to register that and he glared at her.

"I just need to get my clothes." She sighed. "I was trying not to wake you up." That hadn't really worked out, but she thought maybe mentioning it would soften the daggers he was currently staring at her. "Sorry." Not feeling much like lingering in the hostility that was pouring off Bellamy, Clarke turned and pushed her way out of the tent. The sun was even brighter out here, not filtered through the material of the tent. She squinted, letting her eyes adjust. There was a figure a few yards away, she couldn't quite make out who it was. They stopped upon seeing her.

The tent rustled behind her, and Bellamy emerged, still shirtless.

"You're going to rip your stitches." He sounded annoyed, like the idea of his hard work being ruined was too much to take.

"I'm fine." Clarke turned back towards him, reminding herself to keep her eyes on his face. "Thank you, for doing that." She resisted the urge to put her hand on his arm. She had a feeling that would just make both of them uncomfortable. "Where did you learn how to run a stitch?" He cocked his head, as though debating whether or not to tell the truth.

"My mother was a seamstress, on the ark." He didn't offer anything else, and Clarke didn't ask. She knew Bellamy didn't share. She simply nodded, and turned back towards the fire, almost running into someone in the process.

"Sorry." She looked up, and saw that it was Finn. He was looking at her with something akin to anger. She took a step back.

"Yeah. Whatever." Finn glanced behind her, at Bellamy. Shaking his head, he walked away. Clarke frowned. Looking at Bellamy in confusion, she realized what it probably looked like. The sun was barely over the horizon, and she was coming from Bellamy's tent. The figure she saw when she first stepped outside must have been Finn. He was jealous. She bit back a moan of annoyance. That was the last thing she needed.

"What was that about?" Bellamy fell into step beside her, and they both made their way towards the fire. "I thought you two were buddies." He said it sarcastically, as though mocking the idea of having friends. Clarke wondered, for the first time, if he was lonelier than he let on.

"We were." Clarke didn't really feel like talking about it. Bellamy, she thought, of all people, would probably understand. "Now I guess we're not." Finn and her had been awkward since Raven's arrival, stiff and polite, but they hadn't been on bad terms. She had understood his situation, he never thought he would see Raven again, and she had been there. She couldn't say she didn't feel a little used, but she also didn't think Finn had done it on purpose.

When Raven had confronted her, Clarke had been torn. She wasn't the kind of person to jump into bed with the nearest warm body. She had had feelings for Finn. But something about the way Raven had said it, _He could've waited more than ten days,_ had put those feelings to rest. Raven was right, and Clarke realized she didn't want to be a part of it. Things had been intense, after they had landed, and she had thought what she felt with Finn was real. Now she had come to realize that she was just his rebound. She wasn't happy, but she also wasn't going to linger on it. There were more important things to focus her energy on. Especially now that it looked like Finn was going to freeze her out.

They reached the fire, and Clarke reached up to grab her shirt off the makeshift clothesline. She cringed, extending her arms had pulled at her stitches. She looked at Bellamy.

"Could you-" He reached up and pulled her shirt down, throwing it at her. Then he grabbed her bra, which he had hidden underneath her shirt. She started. It was a surprisingly thoughtful thing to do, not that anyone had been out here to see her underwear hanging on the line this early.

"Thanks." She stared at the shirt in her hand, trying not to scowl. She was beginning to realize that with her injury she was going to be needing a lot of help. It should be healed enough in a week for her to get by on her own, but until then she would have to be careful. She only prayed that there would be people other than Bellamy around to help, for once. She didn't like depending on anyone, least of all him. Clarke nodded at him in thanks, one last time, then turned back towards her tent. All she wanted was to get some sleep before the rest of the camp woke up.

Later, in her tent, Clarke winced as Octavia cleaned her stitches. The sun had set a few hours ago, and Clarke had managed to get through most of the day without needing help. Wanting to avoid an infection, she had asked Octavia to clean and dress her cut.

"Are you wearing my brother's shirt?" Octavia's voice, low but still feminine, drifted into Clarke's thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah. He was the one who gave me the stitches." Clarke cringed as the alcohol burned. Octavia's hands weren't as steady as Bellamy's, and she brushed against the wound as she cleaned around it.

"Hmm." Something about the tone of Octavia's voice got under Clarke's skin, and she hesitated before asking.

"What?"

"Back home, there weren't too many girls walking around wearing Bellamy's clothes." Clarke turned around in time to see Octavia smirk. "Actually, there aren't that many girls down here wearing them either, but you get my drift." She smoothed the bandage onto Clarke's side, tying a piece of cloth around it to keep it in place. Clarke eyeballed her.

"This is home, Octavia." The teasing smile fell off Octavia's face, and Clarke immediately felt bad. "You know it's not like that with your brother and me." Octavia shrugged.

"Whatever. You know, you're the only one he listens to. He doesn't even listen to me." A trace of bitterness settled into her expression. "He always protects me, but it's like he doesn't even see me. We used to be close, and now it's like we don't even know each other. We're strangers." She sighed. Clarke watched her, thoughtfully, before responding.

"He loves you. I know he doesn't really show it, but that's why he's done everything he has. I get that he's an ass, but I would do anything to have someone I loved here with me." Octavia stiffened.

"I didn't ask him to do any of that. I didn't ask to be born. This whole crappy life I've had, if you can even call it a life, none of it was my choice. Bellamy treats me like a burden, like I want to be the one who always needed protecting. He blames me for getting our mother floated." Clarke blinked, surprised. It sounded like Bellamy, but he had always been different with Octavia.

"He said that?"

"He said that his life ended the day I was born." Octavia's voice quivered a little, and when Clarke looked at her she noticed her eyes were shining.

"Octavia." Clarke turned, letting her shirt fall and cover her bandage. "You know he didn't mean that." She just shrugged.

"It was my fault. It was. And now my mother's dead, and my brother's basically an assassin, and we're both probably going to die down here." The tears that had been building in Octavia's eyes spilled over, and when Clarke reached out for her she pulled away.

"It wasn't your fault. Octavia listen to me. You were locked under the floor for years. You spent your whole life being told you should never have existed. None of what happened to you was your fault." Clarke reached out again, this time Octavia let her. "All the odds were against you. You would have every right to be a psychopath, or a killer, I mean look at Murphy. But you aren't. Despite everything that happened to you, you _chose _to be a good person. Everything else has nothing to do with you." There was silence for a moment. Both girls looking uncertainly at each other. Suddenly Octavia leaned in and gave Clarke a tight hug. It sent a twinge of pain through her side, but she wrapped her arms around the younger girl and squeezed. After a few seconds, Octavia pulled away, and she got to her feet.

"Are you… good?" Octavia seemed almost nervous. Clarke doubted that she let many people see her cry, you had to have thick skin when you were the subject of an urban legend about living in the floor. Clarke smiled.

"Yeah. Thanks for your help." Octavia nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey." She turned around, and Clarke looked up from the supplies she was putting away. "I would rather he was with you." Clarke cocked her head, waiting for Octavia to explain. "Bellamy. If he was going to be with anyone, I would rather it was you." Clarke stared at her in surprise. Octavia turned back to the flap, and threw it open.

"I think the best you can hope for is that we don't kill each other." Clarke called after Octavia, as she disappeared through the flap. "But thanks." She murmured more quietly, aware Octavia couldn't hear her. She sat like that for a moment, thinking. Then she shook her head. She didn't even like Bellamy. After last night, her respect for him had grown, but they still didn't get along. She doubted they would ever be friends. As she finished packing up the supply kit, she glanced at the knife Octavia had left behind. The handle was rough, one of the ones Bellamy had made. The blade looked sharp enough, it was what Octavia had used to cut the material for Clarke's bandage. Instead of putting it back with the other supplies, Clarke laid it beside the backpack stuffed with leaves she used as a pillow. Murphy's comment rang in her ears.

_Well, now that I know that's your tent, maybe I'll pay you a visit next time._

She shivered. She would never have described herself as afraid, it wasn't really in her nature. But down on the ground everything was different. The anarchy of living without rules made it hard to trust anyone, making the people within the walls only slightly less of a threat than the grounders. Murphy was living proof of that. Clarke doubted she could take him in a fight on a good day, last night had merely been a fluke. If he had wanted to, Clarke was sure he could have killed her. She didn't know why he wouldn't have, other than maybe to avoid angering the camp. Now that she was injured, she didn't stand a chance if he did decide to come after her. She eyed the knife. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

She settled into her bed, resigned to the fact that she wouldn't find a comfortable position. She had been so tired, the first few nights back in camp, that she would have fallen asleep standing up against a tree. Now, she was equally as tired, but her mind refused to rest. She wondered if they should be telling the rest of the camp that Murphy was out there, that they should be alert. She frowned. She had never looked into who was supposed to be on watch the night before. She couldn't help but feel a little nervous that there was no one on watch tonight. She tried to push the thought away, but as she finally drifted off to sleep Murphy's face was the last one in her mind.

This time she was asleep when she heard the noise. Clarke woke with a start, her hand reaching out for the knife. It was gone. She shot up in bed, her eyes huge but useless. It was so dark she could barely see her hand in front of her face. She felt underneath her pillow for the flashlight she kept there. Her hand closed around it and she let out a small breath. It didn't feel like anyone was in the tent with her, but she still felt a wave of relief when she switched the light on and saw it was empty. Her mind skittered back to the knife. Someone had taken it. Painfully, she pushed herself to her feet. She pulled the stick she'd been using as a coatrack out of the ground, and gripped it like a club. She wouldn't be caught off guard this time.

She pushed the flap open with the hand holding the flashlight, and the beam of light pointed into the trees. She wasn't sure, but she thought she caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes, shining in the light. She let the flap fall closed, suddenly reluctant to walk away from the tent. Not that it offered her any real security. Taking a deep breath, Clarke stepped away. The second she could no longer feel the cloth behind her, she began to doubt herself. Just as the thought of turning back began to form, she heard a noise from directly behind her.

"Hey, princess." She closed her eyes, biting back a scream. She hadn't known for sure he'd come back, but she'd had a suspicion. She had hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

"Murphy." Clarke turned, slowly. He wasn't wearing the mask this time. "You should leave. Now." Her voice portrayed a strength she did not feel. Murphy laughed.

"Or what? You'll hit me with your stick?" He twirled something in his left hand. Clarke could barely make it out, but she realized it was her knife. Murphy watched her favor her left side as she backed away. He grinned. "I see I left you with a little souvenir last night." He nodded towards her body where her jacket covered the bandage. She felt a bubble of panic begin to form in her stomach. This was not a fight she could win. Where were the guards? Would anyone wake up if she screamed? The last thing she wanted was to bring someone else out here, just for them to be hurt in her place.

"You don't have to do this." Clarke was backing up, with no clue what was behind her. If she tripped over a rock, or a root, Murphy would be on her in seconds. "Murphy, you don't have to kill me. I know, it's my fault what happened, I should have kept my mouth shut-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" Murphy roared, startling Clarke into tripping and falling backwards. She scurried backwards using her hands, but he was coming at her, fast. The knife he held glinted as they moved into a patch of moonlight. "You're damn right it's your fault." He was above her now, looming like a giant. Clarke could barely hear him over the thundering of her heart.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm so-" She was pleading now, and they both knew it. She didn't want to die here, at the hands of some disturbed teenager on earth millions of miles away from her mother. There was a whole new world here, and it was terrifying, but she wanted to be a part of it. She didn't want to die.

Leaning over her, his voice deadly quiet, Murphy pressed the blade to her throat.

"You almost got me killed. For something I didn't do. And now I have to live alone, in a forest, with grounders running around spearing people. You know what the worst part is?" He was close now, so close Clarke could feel his breath on her face as she pressed herself into the earth.

"Murphy, I didn't want you to get hurt, I didn't want anyone to-"

"The worst part," He continued as though she hadn't spoken, "Is that I have to live off leaves and squirrels. Not exactly filling. What did you have for dinner, princess?" His nose touched hers, and she felt the weight of his body on hers as he kneeled over her, the knife pressing hard enough into her throat to draw blood.

"Mur-" She opened her mouth to beg, but she choked on the words when he put pressure on the knife. Knowing she couldn't fight back without almost certainly ending up with that knife in her throat, she closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do. She could scream, but it wouldn't have any volume, not with her windpipe being crushed like this. It was over. Just as she began to pray it would be quick, the weight on top of her lifted.

Her eyes flew open. Bellamy stood beside her, his hands fisted in the material of Murphy's collar. He slammed him into the nearest tree.

"What did I tell you?" His voice was low and dangerous, and Clarke shivered despite herself. "Huh?" He slammed Murphy back against the tree, demanding an answer.

Murphy seemed to be struggling for air.

"Do it." His words came out as a gasp, but the sneer never left his face. "Go ahead. Kill me. We're the same, Bellamy." Bellamy hesitated, and Clarke remembered his face in the forest, his eyes pleading with her. It had been like he was asking her to understand. He couldn't kill Adam, and he was sorry, she could see in his eyes he was sorry.

_You're not a killer._

Her words. She had meant them, too. He had only been protecting Octavia when he shot the chancellor. And the chancellor had lived. Bellamy hadn't killed Adam. She had. The memory squeezed her chest, like she couldn't catch her breath. Adam's face sometimes mixed in with Charlotte's, a tiny body stepping backwards off a cliff, a blistered, distorted face begging her to kill him. She had killed them both. Bellamy hadn't killed anyone. Even the grounder who had taken Octavia, Bellamy had never gotten the chance to kill him. His hands were clean. Clarke looked at them now, grasping the front of Murphy's jacket, and she knew she couldn't let him do it.

"Bellamy, stop." He looked at Clarke, and in that second Murphy jerked to the right. He wrenched himself free of Bellamy's grasp, and dashed into the trees. Bellamy stared after him for a moment, torn. Then he turned back to Clarke and extended his hand. She took it, pulling herself up. The fall didn't seem to have torn any stitches, but it seemed like everything hurt at the moment anyways. She could feel blood trickling down her neck, and she wiped at it. She looked down to see how much blood had come off on her hand, and realized she was shaking.

"Come on, you need to get cleaned up." Clarke sighed. She hoped this wouldn't become a routine for them.

"I can do it myself this time." She tried to shrug off the hand he put on her back, but he continued pushing her towards his tent.

"Yeah, well. You shouldn't be staying by yourself tonight anyways. He could easily come back and it looks like our patrol system is basically useless." Clarke planted her feet, causing them to come to an abrupt halt.

"I don't-" She had started to say that she didn't need protecting, but she was beginning to realize that wasn't true. For whatever reason, Murphy had marked her as a target. As much as she wished she could deny it, she didn't relish the idea of going back to her tent alone. Bellamy was watching her, his expression unreadable in the dark. He gave her back another push and they resumed walking.

"You don't need anyone's help. Yeah, I know Clarke." He sounded resigned, and Clarke found herself wondering why he even cared what happened to her. As though he could hear her thoughts, he turned to her when they reached the outside of his tent. "Before you get any ideas, I'm only doing this because you're the closest thing we have to a doctor. That makes you valuable to me." Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Oh no, and here I thought you were doing all this because you liked me." Even in the dark, Clarke could make out a very unimpressed set of features on his part. She sighed. "Whatever, I still appreciate it." He pushed her through the flap, and followed, almost bumping into her when she stopped right inside.

"Clarke, move. Why did you-" He stopped, just as suddenly, when he spotted the very naked brunette sprawled across his blankets. Clarke craned her head to stare incredulously at him. Had he really brought her back to his tent while one of his conquests was still there? Bellamy reached around her to grab the flashlight hanging off one of his tent poles. He switched it on, and Clarke raised her eyebrows at what she saw. A pretty brunette, one she recognized from around camp but had never met, was sprawled across the bed she had slept in the night before. Upon seeing Clarke, she made no move to cover herself, only let her eyes rove slowly over Clarke's body.

"Hey, Bell. You brought some company?" Her voice was low, one Clarke recognized as intentionally seductive. It sounded ridiculous to her. She turned to leave. Bellamy's arm snaked out and caught her arm.

"Hold on, princess. You're not going anywhere." He turned back to the brunette. "Hey Roz, tonight's not a good night." She stared at him for a moment, pouting, then grabbed the pile of clothes beside the bed.

"Fine. Another time." She brushed past him as she left, and Clarke fought the urge to gag. The girl had disappeared through the flap before she had finished putting her clothes on.

"So," Clarke turned towards Bellamy, who looked distinctly unruffled. "What are we going to do about Murphy?" He looked at her, his eyes impassive. He didn't know. Clarke rubbed at her face with her hands. She didn't want to be in charge anymore, she just wanted to get a good night's sleep. She wondered if Bellamy felt the same.

"I don't know. We can talk about it in the morning." The dark shadows under his eyes suggested he was just as tired as she was. Clarke nearly sighed with relief. They settled back into the spots they had occupied the night before, Clarke avoiding the area where Roz had been laying.

As they lay there, quietly, Clarke struggled to quell her ever growing feeling of despair. When, she wondered, would the threats stop coming at them from all sides? And when could they stop surviving and start living? If it wasn't soon, she had a feeling they wouldn't be doing either.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I thought for this update I would do two shorter chapters instead of one longer one, just because the break will work for the story flow. So keep that in mind while reading, I will be posting another chapter hopefully by the end of the day. I wanted to say thank you for the amazing reviews, I love reading them and they are what keeps me working on this story. If you want updates, it always helps to write reviews. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The morning came too quickly. Clarke was beginning to forget what a good night's sleep felt like. She rolled over, assuming Bellamy would still be asleep. Instead, she found him lying on his back, his hands folded on his chest. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. She frowned. He either didn't know she was awake or he was ignoring her. For some reason, Clarke didn't want to break the silence. She rolled onto her back. They lay there for a moment, neither of them speaking. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence.

"We should tell them." Clarke glanced at Bellamy. His voice was still raspy from sleep. It was oddly appealing. "About Murphy. I think we're going to need help keeping him out." Clarke sighed.

"Yeah." She thought about something Murphy had said the night before. "He was right." She felt a little sick at the thought, but she had known, the moment he said it, that it was true.

"About what?" Bellamy turned his head, his eyes full of that fake disinterest Clarke had come to recognize. She was still trying to figure out what exactly he was afraid of. She knew there had to be a reason he tried so hard to isolate himself.

"Everything that happened was my fault. Charlotte, Murphy. I should have listened to you." The words stuck a little in her throat, like her body was rejecting the responsibility for Charlotte's death. She would carry it with her forever. Clarke was certain she would see Charlotte's face on her death bed. Bellamy was quiet.

"That's not true." Clarke gaped at Bellamy in surprise.

"Bellamy, don't. Don't even try. You were the first one to say it." He was looking at the ceiling again.

"Yeah. But Charlotte killed Wells. That was her fault. And Murphy was an asshole. That was his fault." Finally, with a grunt, he sat up. "We all make choices, Clarke. We don't always know what will happen when we do, but they're still our choices. You chose to hold someone responsible. It backfired." He stared at her. "You don't think like I do. You wouldn't have realized that to some people an eye for an eye is the only way to punish someone. You thought you were making the right decision. You're not a bad person." The last sentence hung in the air. Clarke could practically feel the self-loathing coming off of him in waves. The subtext was clear.

_You're not a bad person- but I am._

She was surprised to find that she didn't believe it.

"I don't think you are either." It took a moment for Clarke to realize the words were hers. Her thoughts had pushed their way out into the world without her consent. Bellamy stared at her. She felt as though he was waiting for her to justify what she'd said, but she wasn't sure she could. The way the light was filtering through the tent told her it was still early. It would probably be a while before any of the others were awake. She studied Bellamy, noting the furrow in between his brows, so deep it was as though it had been permanently etched into his features. Clarke thought back to her conversation with Octavia. Bellamy was telling her the same thing she had assured his sister was true. In her case, her choices had lead to the death of two people. She didn't believe it was the same. And yet.

She watched Bellamy, knowing that what he felt, what he was struggling with, she felt the same. She looked at him and she saw someone who had put the life of someone he loved over the life of someone he believed deserved to die. Clarke didn't know if that made it right. She was looking at the boy who tried to murder her best friend's father. The chancellor of the ark. But what she saw was a brother who felt the responsibility of his sister's life more acutely than she could understand. And she found she didn't condemn him for it.

"It's funny." The words came out slowly, as though she wasn't sure what they would be until they drifted through the tent. "I don't think you're a bad person. I meant what I said before, in the forest." She realized the pause between her thoughts had been long, and Bellamy had been staring intently at her. "You're protecting your sister. I don't have anyone to protect, and I've-" Clarke broke off, suddenly aware of an intense pressure behind her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, pushing back. She refused to cry in front of Bellamy. He already thought she was weak and spoiled. She couldn't afford to give weight to his assumptions. If they were going to take charge of the population on the ground she needed him to respect her.

The weight of her actions was crushing her. She had no one, no excuse. She had ended the lives of two people, and she couldn't justify them with love. Not the way Bellamy could. The tent was suddenly suffocating. Gasping, she pushed herself to her feet, barely acknowledging the tugging pain at her side. She stumbled, almost panicking, towards the slit in the canvas, thrusting her way through. She couldn't change what she'd done. If she could take back her part in Charlotte's fate, she would. If she could go back and bite her tongue and smother the words before they could leave her mouth to cause a wave of destruction she would. But she could not. And it was suddenly too much.

A hand clapped onto her shoulder. Clarke started, swinging around at the person behind her. Bellamy jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding the fist flying at his face.

"Woah!" He grabbed the hand that had passed most closely, holding it still. "What just happened?"

"I killed two people Bellamy." Clarke was still gasping for breath, her chest constricted as though heavy weight was pressing against it. "For what? It wasn't supposed to be me, we aren't supposed to decide when people live or die." She felt her teeth chattering, her body shivering so hard she felt like her brain was rattling around in her skull. She couldn't see for the vibrations that jarred her head, the nausea following that dizziness rolled through her and she closed her eyes. She could hear the stirring of the camp going on around her, all these people who trusted her, trusted Bellamy to keep them alive. The sob tore through her throat with such force she swayed on her feet. Suddenly, there were arms around her, holding her steady.

"Okay. Just-" He was holding her and it was as though she had no control, she turned and pressed her face into his chest. He didn't say anything, just wound his arms around her a little more tightly. Fisting her hands in his jacket, Clarke was struck by the irony of the situation. She had been trying to comfort him, and had ended up unsettling herself. She thought, with a small laugh that burbled into the front of Bellamy's shirt, that she should refrain from trying to comfort anyone in the future.

As she stilled, her breath somehow coming easier though she was pressed against Bellamy so tightly, she felt a small pang of regret. There was no going back now. After this, she would have to trust him. She couldn't keep going on in this camp having no one. Wells was dead, and Finn was not only with Raven but it seemed he was freezing her out. Clarke hadn't even realized how exhausting it was having no one to talk to until it had all come rushing to the surface, resulting in a meltdown. She sighed into Bellamy's chest, and let go of his jacket. It took a moment for him to do the same, but he dropped his arms and stepped away, looking awkward.

"Thanks." Clarke had thought she would be embarrassed, but she felt surprisingly light. Bellamy had seen her at her most vulnerable, and aside from looking a little uncomfortable, he was unfazed. She sighed. "We've all done bad things." Bellamy raised his eyebrows. It was clear that he hadn't expected her to continue with her lecture. His stance suggested he was waiting for her to have another breakdown. She ignored him. "You are selfish." He made a noise as though he was going to interrupt her, but said nothing. His eyes had fallen flat again, and Clarke rushed to finish her thought. "But you're not just selfish. I'm a killer." This time he opened his mouth to speak, but she waved him off with her hand and continued speaking. "But I'm not just that." She looked away. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I've done. I think you are too. I think you're already trying."

Bellamy didn't say anything. He was quiet for so long that Clarke began to wonder if she had offended him. She hadn't meant to. At this point, she realized she needed someone who would be honest with her. In their situation, comfort meant lies, because the truth would always lead to fear. This was not a comforting place. She was trying to be honest with him, he didn't need her to forgive everything he had done, because he would never believe her. He needed hope. Finally, he moved. His hand drifted forward, settling on her arm.

"We should try and get a few more hours of sleep. You need to heal." With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the tent. Clarke blinked. She recognized the touch as one meant to tell her he wasn't angry. Beyond that, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. She followed him inside, glancing down to see him laying on the blankets, his back to her. She bit her lip, debating whether to say something, anything to get inside his head and know what he was thinking. Deciding it was never a good idea to push when it came to Bellamy, she settled back on her side of the blankets.

As her eyes drifted shut, prickling with the exhaustion that came from crying, she felt something brush her fingers. She opened one eye, squinting, and realized it was Bellamy. He lay with his arm outstretched, his hand beside hers. His fingers were splayed between hers, just close enough that they were touching. Clarke resisted the sudden urge to grab his hand and pull, rolling him closer. She let her eye fall closed again, and fell asleep to the sound of Bellamy breathing.

Clarke was dreaming of the ark. Her ears echoed with the familiar mechanical thrum of it. Even in a dream it seemed deafeningly loud after the quiet of the earth. She glanced to the right. She was sitting in a classroom, one she didn't recognize. Being that there were only 8 classrooms on the ark, Clarke knew this one was of her own imagining. The chairs were stacked against the wall, the desks pushed aside. It was empty of people, other than herself. There was an emptiness that went beyond that, like the chill of the metal floor was seeping upwards into her limbs. She tried to turn, to walk, but the ground beneath her was gone.

She looked down and saw stars, the vastness of space opening up beneath her feet. Her hands closed around the sill of the window as her lungs began to burn, her heart thudding slowly, painfully. She glanced through the glass and saw the quarters her family had lived in, the familiar faces of her parents smiling out at her. But they weren't smiling.

Her mother's face was grim, her mouth a hard line. It opened, and though Clarke could not hear the words, she could read them on her lips. _Murderer. _Clarke looked away, her eyes falling on her father, then widening in horror. His skin was grey, his eyes clouded in death, his mouth gaping for air that couldn't help him any longer. Clarke blinked, her eyelids dragging as they opened, the lack of oxygen clouding her brain. She stared at the scene in front of her, the misery blooming an ache in her already burning chest. She couldn't take it, she couldn't look any longer, her grip on the window sill loosened. She took one last glance through the glass, at the condemnation on her mother's face, at the ghost of her father, and let go.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Here's part two of chapter 3. I have some ideas about domestic Bellarke coming up and I'm kind of excited so there should be another update soon. If anyone here is on tumblr and likes my writing and wants to send me some prompts I would love that: my url is theswareks. Anyway, enjoy, please review!

* * *

Jerking awake, Clarke's hands flew to her face. She brushed away the wetness, and pressed her palms to her eyes, pushing until spots of light flickered behind her eyelids. Flashing back to the stars flickering under her as she drifted, she dropped her hands. She blinked away what was left of her nightmare and sighed. Clarke could hear the steady rhythm of Bellamy's breathing beside her. She closed her eyes and listened, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

Settling back under the covers, she tried to slip back into sleep but the images of her dream stuck in her mind. She groaned, knowing sleep would not come any time soon. She rolled onto her side, taking in Bellamy's sleeping form. His eyes were closed, and the tension that filled his stature during his waking hours was gone. The peace of his sleep seemed to fill the tent, soothing the raw edges left behind by her dream.

Suddenly self-conscious of the way she was watching him, Clarke rolled onto her other side. She stared at the wall of canvas in front of her, trying to push the images of her mother's face out of her mind. Clarke had been so busy being angry at her mother that she hadn't stopped to think about how disappointed her mother would have been in her. She hadn't realized it was something that worried her until now.

There was a sort of stuttering sigh from behind her, and the blankets rustled as Bellamy rolled over. She resisted the temptation to turn and soak in the peace of his sleep. She itched to touch his face, just once, while he was so calm. A Bellamy without anger and fire in his eyes was an alien one. She was pulled from her thoughts as an arm snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards. She let out a noise of surprise, but didn't resist. Bellamy slid her backwards until her back was pressed against him, her body automatically curving to mimic his. He pressed his face into her shoulder, making a noise that could only be described as content. Clarke froze.

She knew she needed to move, that they would both be embarrassed if he woke up like this, but she felt safe, for the first time since they had arrived. The arms around her stomach tightened, and she flashed back to Roz, lying naked on the same bed she was in now. She couldn't let herself get comfortable like this, Bellamy was just mistaking her for one of his one night stands. She sighed, a little more sadly than she meant to. Just as she was about to pry herself from his grip, she heard him mumble, and felt his lips move against her shoulder.

"Clarke." She started in surprise. Was it possible he was awake?

"What?" She tried to crane her neck to catch a glimpse of his face, wondering if his eyes would be open, but his entire body jerked behind her as he woke up, and then the arms around her were gone.

She rolled over, letting the short nights show in her eyes, hoping it would come across as though she had been asleep. Bellamy was staring at her, his eyes half open and confused. Deciding the best thing to do would be to act as though nothing had happened, she frowned at him. She couldn't let this hurt the easiness that had finally begun to creep into their alliance.

"God, what?" Her voice was raspy, and it added to the illusion. She nearly sighed in relief as the confusion in his face faded into his usual irritation.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to…" He frowned at her, but shook his head. "Wake you up." Clarke closed her eyes, glad the moment had passed. She grimaced as she sat up, feeling her shirt stuck to her side. She must have twisted in the night and opened up her cut. She reached behind her and felt the familiar stickiness of blood. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she looked over at Bellamy.

"Yeah, well. Now that I'm up could you clean this for me?" She leaned to the side and pulled up her shirt, gently peeling it away from her skin. When she glanced back at him, Bellamy was staring at the blood, his eyes distant. "Are you okay?" His head snapped up.

"I'm fine." He shifted, and the blanket slid down his torso, revealing a bare chest once again. Annoyed with the way she could still feel his hand splayed against her stomach, she grabbed the nearest article of clothing and threw it at him.

"And put a shirt on." She leaned back and huffed out an irritated breath, not looking at Bellamy. She imagined he was looking at her like she was crazy, not that she could blame him. When she finally turned to see what he was doing, she caught a glimpse of blood smeared along his abdomen. She almost shot up, asking if he was alright, but she caught herself. The blood was hers. The memory of her back, pressed tightly against him ghosted across her skin, and she shivered. She averted her eyes, pretending she hadn't seen. Bellamy didn't seem to be paying attention to her, and he slipped the shirt on without wiping the blood away.

"You want me to help you, then wake up and get over here." He sounded annoyed, and Clarke wondered if he was thinking about the same thing she was. Sighing, she crawled over to where he was kneeling, and sat in front of him, lifting her shirt to expose the bloodied bandage. She bit her lip, and jumped when his hand touched her. He made a sound of irritation.

"Your hands are cold!" They had been warm when they were pressed against her, trailing slowly down her stomach. She blinked. She needed to stop thinking about that. Bellamy sighed behind her.

"Suck it up, princess." His fingers were gentle, and she shivered as they raised goose bumps, but kept her mouth shut. "How do you manage to keep injuring yourself while you sleep?" His voice was mocking, and Clarke doubted he actually wanted an answer, but one slipped out despite herself.

"Bad dream." She tried to keep the images away, pressing them to the outskirts of her mind. They pushed back, insistently. The wave of blankness that rushed over her when Bellamy poured alcohol over her stitches was welcome. He was unusually quiet as he worked, and the lack of biting remarks unnerved Clarke. She wondered, for the second time, what was going on in his head.

"We should gather the older kids, tell them about Murphy." She nodded, the same thought had occurred to her during the night. There was little point in alarming the younger kids, the ones who wouldn't be of much help anyways. She had learned the hard way that panic was to be avoided at all costs. Feeling the familiar tug as Bellamy retied the fabric keeping her bandage in place, Clarke let her shirt fall back down. She couldn't help but wince at the sticky texture of it. Keeping clean down here was hard enough without constantly having to wash the blood out of her clothes. She was down to one shirt that was thick enough to keep her reasonably warm. The one that was currently crusted in blood. She plucked at the material as it stuck to her, making a face. She was suddenly glad she didn't sleep in her bra, remembering how hard it was to wash.

"I should go wash this, before anyone else wakes up and the tap gets busy." Thinking of how little she wanted an audience, since she had yet to explain to the campers their most recent danger, she stood quickly. She saw spots and swayed a little. A firm hand reached out to steady her, and she swatted it away. "I'm fine. I just stood up too quickly." Clarke glanced back at Bellamy, opening her mouth to ask him to turn away. He was facing away from her, rummaging through his makeshift backpack. She grabbed her jacket off the ground, and unzipped it. Rushing, aware that Bellamy could turn around at any moment, she tugged her shirt over her head. It snagged on her ear and she swore. She ripped the shirt off, a little more aggressively than was necessary, and saw Bellamy staring at her.

He looked confused, but it didn't stop his eyes from trailing across her chest. Her hands flew up, still bunched around her shirt.

"Bellamy! Stop!" Regaining her thoughts, she swiveled around. She bent down, quickly, and picked up her jacket, pulling it on and zipping it to just under her chin. She turned around, glaring at Bellamy, who didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. He cleared his throat.

"I uh, stashed some shirts just in case." He nodded towards a corner of the tent that always had pile of canvas and seatbelts for making supplies. She frowned. "Under all that." Walking to the corner, she dug through the fabric and came up with a handful of shirts. At least two of them looked to be flannel, and though they might be a bit big on her, her hands closed around them in relief. She turned back to the boy sitting cross legged on the blankets, watching her. He cocked his head, his smile saying something about the scene that had just unfolded that she chose to ignore. "So, am I forgiven?"

"You'll be forgiven when you find me something that isn't alive to eat for breakfast."

Bellamy grinned and ducked out of the tent, leaving Clarke standing there, arms still crossed over the thick material of her jacket. She groaned, pressing her face into her hands. In light of everything going on, Bellamy seeing her naked was not something that should warrant concern. And yet her face flamed beneath her hands. She shook her head. She would get this out of her system now, then push it out of her mind. There were more important things to worry about. She straightened, checking that her jacket was zipped before stepping out of the tent. The sun was completely above the horizon line, and Clarke was a little surprised to see only a few people outside.

She headed towards the tap they had rigged, keeping her bloody shirt hidden under her arm. She heard a giggle behind her, and saw Raven emerging from Finn's tent out of the corner of her eye. Hurrying her pace, she caught sight of Bellamy talking to a blonde boy, a few yards away. It was almost startling to see the severity of his expression. She had forgotten how serious he could be.

"Clarke!" The voice came from behind her. Turning, she realized it was Raven. She stopped, hesitantly.

"Hey." She didn't smile, didn't know what to say. She had no idea where she stood with Raven.

"Can we talk?" Raven smiled at her, and Clarke stared for a moment.

"Sure." She glanced back toward the tap, wanting to wash out her shirt before anyone saw it. "Walk with me." Raven fell into step beside her.

"I know things are weird. Between us." Clarke didn't look at her. "Um, but I know you didn't know about me, and I don't blame you for Finn." There was a silence, it seemed to stretch on as they walked, and Clarke finally looked at her. She wasn't sure what to do with that. Was she supposed to apologize? Say thank you? Were her and Raven supposed to be friends? She sighed. Her feelings for Finn, whatever residual attraction she had for him, it wasn't worth creating an enemy. Especially not out of a girl she liked.

"I like you, Raven. I think we should start over, if you want." Her sentence ended hesitantly, realizing the other girl might have just wanted to call a truce. Raven smiled.

"Yeah. I feel like I already know you, your mom told me a lot about you." Raven held out her hand and Clarke took it, her smile turning tight. After the night she'd had her mother was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She dropped Raven's hand and stepped back.

"Well. Good. I've got to…" She trailed off, glancing toward the tap. Raven nodded, looking uncertain.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later." She turned and started walking away.

"Raven." Clarke called after her. Raven turned and waited. "Tell everyone who's part of the perimeter watch to meet at the fire after breakfast." Raven gave her a quizzical look, but nodded before heading back to Finn's tent. It was shaping up to be a long day.

After washing her shirt and hanging it by the fire, Clarke headed back to her own tent to change into one of the flannel ones Bellamy had given her. She glanced at her things, feeling a strange sense of detachment. This had been her home since they had landed, and yet looking at it now felt like looking at a stranger's bed. She stared at the scrabble marks in the dirt where her fingers had dug in. Remembered waking every morning with dirt under her fingernails from the night terrors. She sighed. It seemed like it would be a while before they could deal with Murphy, and as much as she missed her privacy she didn't think it was smart to stay here by herself. She gathered a few things and shoved them into a backpack. If she was going to be staying with Bellamy for a while, at least she would have some of her own things.

"Clarke?" Jumping, she spun around, coming face to face with Bellamy. She had been balancing on the balls of her feet as she kneeled, and toppled onto the dirt.

"Bellamy." She exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest as though to contain her wildly beating heart. "Don't sneak up on me." She expected him to roll his eyes, but he gazed back at her, pensive.

"Sorry. Everyone's ready at the fire. You ready?" He held out his hand, and she took it, pulling herself up. She followed him out, wondering what they were going to tell everyone. There was no plan, no strategy to either catch Murphy or keep him out. She began to feel a trickle of anxiety.

"Bellamy." She hissed, tugging on his arm as they walked towards the crowd that had assembled. He shot her a look over his shoulder. "What are we going to tell them? That Murphy's back, and he's apparently insane now and we have no clue how to keep him out?" He stopped, suddenly enough that Clarke bumped into him.

"Well." He was looking down at her, she hadn't realized he was so tall. "I wasn't going to say it like that." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him, stopping in front of the crowd. "You start." He whispered in her ear, and she ignored the shiver it sent down her back. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she spotted Finn, looking angry. He had no right to be, so she looked away. She stepped forward, and the chatter amongst the group died down as they looked at her. It was intimidating.

"Something has happened." She resisted the urge to stuff her hands in her pockets, and glanced back at Bellamy. "Murphy's back." The volume of the chatter ratcheted upwards, and before she could open her mouth, Bellamy stepped beside her.

"Shut up." The crowd fell silent. Something about watching him, the authority of it, sent a flash of heat through her stomach. Knowing that was somewhere she didn't want to go, she focused on the crowd, on what she would have wanted to hear if she were them.

"He's been getting in and out of camp, because we haven't been doing a good enough job of watching the wall." She tried to school her features into a fierce expression, like the one she had seen on Bellamy earlier. There were a few hostile faces looking back at her.

"We? What have you done to keep the wall secure, princess?" The voice came from a sneering boy, probably around 17. He would have narrowly missed his review hearing before being sent down, just like Clarke. She glared at him.

"Aside from being attacked, twice, and stabbed?" The anger was leaking out in her voice, and she fought to control it. She wasn't angry at this kid, or any of the others. But what did they know about her, really? They thought she was soft. They were wrong. "Look, you can whisper behind my back about my being upper class on the ark if you want. I don't see how it matters since I spent the past year in a cell the same as the rest of you. But I'm here, trying to stay alive, just like everyone else. And I am telling you that there is a threat out there, and that we, as a group, need to deal with it. If you're fine with letting a homicidal maniac run around inside the wall then maybe you're the one who should be doing more to help." Her eyes were blazing, tired of the discord, tired of being targeted. She was sick of this.

"What are we supposed to do? Kill him?" Raven, standing next to Finn, called over the heads of the crowd. Clarke chewed on the inside of her lip. What could she say?

"We need to keep a better eye on the gate. Only volunteer if you're willing to take it seriously. No more napping while you are responsible for the safety of this camp." Bellamy cut in, and Clarke could swear she saw something resembling admiration in his eyes.

"We want to protect you, but we need your help." The crowd nodded. "Murphy needs to be dealt with, but for now the best thing we can do is keep him out of the camp long enough for him to decide it's not worth it to stick around." Clarke nodded in agreement. "Coordinate your shifts through Will." He pointed toward the blonde boy he had been talking to earlier. People began moving towards him, and Clarke and Bellamy broke away.

"Now what?" She clasped her fingers behind her back, suppressing the urge to touch the smile tugging on his lips. His grin held a secret, she could feel it in the uneasy jolt it sent through her.

"Breakfast." He reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of berries. "Not alive."

She reached out and popped a few in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay." He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "You're forgiven." His answering smile was genuine, and for a moment she just looked at him.

"Come on." He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. "We've got a camp to run."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a month since the first attack. Clarke and Bellamy had settled into a strangely comfortable coexistence. There were times, during the night, when one of them would wake up sweating or screaming. It happened to nearly every one of what was left of the hundred, something no one spoke about but everyone knew.

There had been one particularly bad night, when Bellamy had woken Clarke by picking her up and carrying her outside, only to dump her in the dirt. She had been furious for about thirty seconds until she realized he was sleepwalking. After storming inside, prepared to give him a piece of her mind along with a few well-placed punches, she had seen him face down in the blankets, his arm outstretched across her spot. Something about it, the way his hand had reached for something, someone, that wasn't there. She hadn't had the heart to tell him. And if she had been a little annoyed when he made fun of the dirt on her clothes in the morning, she had been able to bite her tongue.

Their alliance had drifted south to something else. Clarke wasn't sure it could be called a friendship, but there wasn't another word that would describe it more accurately either. They were partners, leading the camp. Her unofficial position as a leader alongside Bellamy had been accepted by most, but there were a few who couldn't seem to let go of the idea that she was an elitist, that she wasn't like them. She didn't let it get to her, not anymore.

Murphy hadn't been seen inside the camp since the last time he'd attacked her, but someone was still keeping close to the wall. Every few days someone would spot smoke above the trees not far from camp. As far as Clarke was concerned, he was only a problem as long as he was trying to get inside. For all she cared, he could live just outside the wall until they all died of radiation poisoning.

A hand clasped her shoulder, and Clarke swiveled her head. Too quickly, from the way the trees spun around her. She stumbled to her feet and leaned over the bushes beside her position on the log. She felt a rolling wave of nausea and heaved, sending her dinner into the shrub. She stood there, waiting for it to pass. The same hand grabbed her hair, holding it out of her face while she lost the rest of her stomach contents onto the ground. Finally finished, she staggered backward, collapsing onto the fallen log.

"Clarke?" Bellamy handed her a flask of water, the look of concern on his face still something new to her. In the beginning they had trusted each other, now there was something else. Compassion wasn't the right word, not when it came to Bellamy, but he cared about her. Clarke knew he did, and she cared about him too. She had a feeling it was due to the mutual dependency that had developed in the past few weeks. For whatever reason, she needed him. That was simple. And even more absurdly, he needed her. She glanced up, swishing the water in her mouth before spitting it out beside her. From the way he was looking at her now, she was starting to suspect he might even like her.

"I'm fine now. Must have been something I ate." He looked worried.

"I hope not. Everyone in the camp ate the same thing you did." There was a sound, soft, like a branch snapping under a blanket of moss. Both of them jerked upright and squinted into the trees. Clarke had taken on watch more nights than anyone else, and after the first few nights Bellamy had started joining her. One night, after a bit of Monty's moonshine, he had admitted that he couldn't sleep without her. She knew he remembered, but neither of them had spoken about it. There were a lot of things they were choosing to ignore, things that would make the relationship they were finally managing a lot more complicated. Like the way she, more often than not, woke up with Bellamy wound so tightly around her that she couldn't extricate herself without waking him. Or the dreams she had, of his hands on her in that familiar way, this time while they were awake.

She couldn't have feelings for him, she couldn't want him. It would only screw everything up. The problem was that she seemed to have less control as time went by. She had no idea how Bellamy felt, but she doubted he was interested in her. He seemed to have groupies, girls that were constantly following him around. Ever since Clarke had started bunking with him, the girls had cooled considerably towards her. The entire camp thought they were sleeping together, not that Clarke hadn't tried to quash the rumor. They all knew what had happened, but the lack of political drama lately meant that topics of gossip were a little thin.

There were footsteps, this time from behind them. Two boys emerged, nodding at Bellamy. One of them, not Clarke's biggest fan, ignored her and walked past her to stare into the trees. She got up, her vacated seat being filled by the second boy. He smiled at her, and she ruffled his hair affectionately. His name was Jason, one of the younger boys who had been allowed on what was now called the patrol. He was 14, and he had almost killed himself trying to take down a wild boar. Clarke had cleaned him up and taken care of his injuries, and they had been friends ever since. Something about his quiet loyalty had reminded her of Wells, and she couldn't help but look out for him. She felt a tug on her arm, and turned to see Bellamy waiting for her. She followed him back to the tent.

"I wish we hadn't let Jay on the patrol." Bellamy sighed, this was not the first time they had had this conversation.

"I know, but he'll be fine. Morgan will watch out for him." Clarke bit her lip, refraining from making an uncomplimentary comment about the boy who had thrown a bucket of meat scraps on her a week earlier. She could tell Bellamy was suppressing a smile, and knew he was remembering the same event. "I know you don't like him, but he likes Jay. He won't let anything happen to him." Clarke ducked into the tent, Bellamy behind her.

"I don't know how much any of us can actually protect each other." She sighed, and sat down on the blankets. Laying back, she closed her eyes, expecting sleep to come quickly. Instead, she felt a rush of the same nausea from earlier, and bolted from the tent. There was nothing left in her stomach but acid, and it burned as it came up. When she made her way back inside, Bellamy handed a sprig of leaves out to her. She took it, raising it to her face to smell. She crushed a leaf between her fingers and realized it was mint.

"I thought it might help with the taste." Clarke smiled. She was starting to get used to this Bellamy, the one who could be thoughtful when no one was around to see. She dropped a leaf into her mouth and chewed, savoring the minty taste as it washed away any traces of acid. "Do you think you're sick?" He sounded tired, and Clarke realized he was thinking about running the camp while she was sick. It would be hard on him.

"I hope not." She muttered. She closed her eyes, expecting the queasiness to keep her awake, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and she was asleep before Bellamy could respond.

The next morning was cold. Winter was moving in quickly, and it was glaringly obvious that the camp was unprepared. The rain was starting to freeze as it came down, and though they could hide in the ship they were sent down in, it was cold without a fire. Clarke was sitting with Bellamy at the fire outside, contemplating what they could possibly do to keep from freezing, when a girl sat down beside her. Clarke recognized her as Evelyn, one of the girls in Bellamy's fan club. Assuming she wanted to talk to him, Clarke began to stand up, but Evelyn caught her arm and pulled her back.

"I need your help." Clarke stared at her. Because most of the camp assumed her and Bellamy were a couple, she wasn't exactly one of Evelyn's favorite people.

"Um, okay. What's wrong?" There was something in her eyes that worried Clarke, and she glanced at Bellamy, who shrugged.

"I think I'm pregnant." There was a pause. Clarke opened her mouth, but was temporarily lost. The ark had dumped a bunch of teenagers on the ground, unsupervised. For the first few weeks, it had seemed like every second tent housed a few horny kids letting off steam. But for some reason it hadn't occurred to Clarke that none of them had access to any kind of birth control. Some of the older girls might have had the implants that worked as contraceptives for five years, but a lot of them had probably been incarcerated before they needed them. She sat back in shock.

"Oh. God." She stared at the girl in front of her, trying to focus. "Sorry. But how am I supposed to help you?" Evelyn gave her a strange look.

"You're the doctor, or whatever. Right?" Clarke wasn't really sure how to answer, so she nodded.

"I guess."

"Can you, I don't know. Give me a pregnancy test or something?" Clarke blinked.

"Evelyn," She wasn't sure if she was being patronizing, and at the moment she didn't really care. "We don't have any pregnancy tests. We don't really have anything, as far as medical supplies go." She tried to remember what her mother had told her, the night Clarke had gone with her to see one of the female council members. "What are your symptoms?"

"I've been having nightmares. Really vivid ones. At first I thought, you know, it was from everything that had happened, but then I missed my period. And I started feeling really nauseous." Clarke tucked her hand under her leg, to hide the fact that it was shaking.

"How late is your period?"

"Three weeks." Clarke closed her eyes. She couldn't be anywhere near sure, but it certainly sounded like Evelyn was pregnant.

"Let me talk to Monty, he knows the plants here better than I do. He might know something that can help us figure out if you're pregnant." Evelyn nodded, standing to leave. "And stay away from his moonshine until then." Evelyn smiled, a drastic change from the pointed glares Clarke had been receiving for the past few weeks. She watched Evelyn retreat before turning to Bellamy. He looked troubled.

"What? Oh, god it's not yours is it?" She stared at him in horror, the idea of Evelyn's baby being his disturbing her more than it should.

"What?" He made a face at her. "No, I never slept with her. I'm just thinking. What if she's just the first of a wave of pregnant chicks? No way can we take care of a whole bunch of babies down here." Clarke had been thinking the same thing. She stood, knowing a meltdown was coming and not wanting Bellamy around for it. She practically ran from the fire, pressing herself against a tree a few yards away.

She had been so stupid. She flashed back to that night in the bunker, Finn's face as she grabbed him, as she told him he was not alone. His hands on her shoulders, trailing down to pop the button of her jeans. She bent over and vomited violently, wiping her mouth with a shaking hand.

"What the hell was that?" Bellamy was staring at her, having followed her like always. For once, Clarke wanted to be alone.

"Go away." She didn't look at him, her heart racing in her chest. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be true. He grabbed her, a little less gently than he usually did.

"You're freaking me out. What's wrong with you?" She jerked her arm out of his grasp, panting as she looked him over, deciding.

"I think- Evelyn might not be the only who's pregnant." She waited, waited for the disappointment on his face, the disgust. She only saw confusion.

"Yeah, I know, there are probably a bunch of other…" He trailed off, his mouth falling open as he realized what she was saying. His eyes darted down to her stomach, then back to her face. "Clarke."

She didn't know what to say. Once, she had thought his assumption of her innocence had been funny, now she wished she could have it back. She didn't know what she expected, but it hadn't been anger.

"You're pregnant?" His voice was loud, unnaturally so. He was looking at her like she was lying, like he didn't believe her.

"I don't know. Maybe." She stared at her hands. She didn't want this. As though the universe was conspiring to bring her the most misery in it's power, she glanced up to see a familiar face standing behind Bellamy. Finn.

His mouth hung open, an almost comic impression of Bellamy's reaction a few seconds earlier. It looked like he had been walking by when he overheard. Bellamy hadn't realized he was there, and he glanced behind him to see what Clarke was staring at.

"Finn." Clarke was even more lost than ever. She couldn't comfort both of them. She couldn't even comfort herself. Bellamy was looking between them, not making the connection.

"You're not- I don't." Finn was struggling, his eyes never leaving her face. The look of incredulity faded into something a lot more bitter. He snapped his mouth shut. "His or mine?" He jerked his head toward Bellamy, and Clarke resisted the urge to turn and run, fleeing the scene of this unmitigated disaster.

"Yours?" Bellamy was looking at Finn as though he had never seen him before. "You-" He turned back to Clarke, "You and him?" She took in the way he was looking at her, something different than disgust, something like… Jealousy. It took her by surprise.

"One time. It was before Raven got here…" She trailed off, not entirely certain why she was defending herself to Bellamy. It had nothing to do with him, not really. Finn snorted.

"I think you mean one night, princess. It was definitely more than one… time." The leer on his face was alien. Clarke could barely recognize him. She realized he was lashing out, reacting to the news, but badly. Bellamy glowered at him.

"Should I leave you two alone?" He was talking to Clarke, and something in his voice made her want to cry more than any other part of this.

"No. Stay." She turned to Finn. "I know what you think, but I haven't slept with Bellamy. If I'm pregnant," She put emphasis on the word _if, _"it's yours." Finn, for some reason, looked relieved. If Clarke were in his position, she would have been wishing the baby wasn't hers. As it was, she was wishing there was no baby at all. Suddenly unable to deal with the situation, she grabbed Bellamy's hand, pulling him away from Finn, away from reality.

"Bellamy." She stopped, and looked at him. He looked distant, and she resisted the urge to wind her arms around him and pull him toward her. "I need a few days. I can't deal with this, and I can't do anything about it." She was begging him, with her eyes, not to condemn her. "I need a few days to figure out whether this is… real." His eyes flickered, understanding what she meant, and he nodded.

"Okay." He left her, standing there, and she couldn't help but wish the person she most wanted for comfort at the moment was anyone but him.

That night, their first night off watch in three days, Clarke lay on her side. She pretended to be asleep when she heard his footsteps approach the tent. Once he was settled in beside her, she opened her eyes, the tears she had been holding back all day spilling over. She was silent as she lay there, letting the tears drench her pillow, finally sniffling quietly. She nearly jumped out of bed when she felt something brush her fingers, one of her hands laying on top of the blanket. She waited, wondering if she had imagined it, when Bellamy's fingers found hers, lacing firmly in between them. She couldn't hold back the sob as it choked out, and suddenly Bellamy was rolling her to face him, and pulling her in. He held her, her head pressed into his chest, and let her cry. She fell asleep with his arms around her, exhausted but content.

The next few days passed in a blur. Clarke spent most of them working with Monty to find a few plants that he said he could use if any more girls were pregnant. A few were for tea, something the mothers could drink to soothe their stomachs and nourish the babies. One was for a dye that could be mixed in with their food and used to determine if they were pregnant. According to Monty, there was a second plant needed to make the dye, and so far they hadn't been able to find it. Clarke was starting to go crazy.

She was sitting with Octavia, weaving some plant fibers into a pathetic excuse for a scarf when she sneezed. Her body clenched and a familiar wetness spread between her legs. She shot to her feet. Octavia frowned and her eyes flickered downwards.

"Oh, uh, Clarke. You've got..." She trailed off and pointed. Clarke grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh, god. Oh my god." She released Octavia, who was looking confused and a little concerned. "Do you have a pair of pants I could borrow?" Octavia nodded. As they headed toward her tent, Clarke could hear her mumbling. Something about crazy women on their periods. She didn't care. She didn't think she had ever been so relieved in her life.

After a change of clothes, and some absorbent moss, Clarke was practically flying through the camp. She skidded to a halt, spotting Bellamy sitting next to Jason. She slowed her pace a little, still jogging by the time she reached him. He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

"Bellamy." She was out of breath, the wide smile on her face yet to fade. He stood up, placing an arm on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" She grinned even wider.

"I'm great. Oh, god." She put her hands on her knees, leaning forward to catch her breath. After a few seconds she straightened up, grabbing Bellamy's arms. "I'm not pregnant." Even though she'd had a few minutes to take it in, the words came out as a sigh of relief. "I'm not pregnant." The second time, the words came out as an exclamation. Bellamy stared at her. Something about the intensity of it momentarily stole her breath. Before she could let go of his arms, he pulled her forward, crushing his lips to hers. She let out a noise of surprise, but quickly lost herself in the kiss. His arms tightened around her, one hand on her back, the other in her hair. She wrapped hers around his back, gripping his shoulders for leverage. She sighed, and his tongue darted forward, running along her top lip. He deepened the kiss, crushing her to him.

"Get a room." The voice came from right beside her, and Clarke leaped back from Bellamy in surprise. She stared at him for a moment, now out of breath for an entirely new reason. She glanced in the direction of the voice, and saw a triumphant looking Octavia. Bellamy's hand was still on her back, and he suddenly jerked her forward again. He pressed his forehead to her, shutting out the noise that surrounded them.

"We should go somewhere. To talk." Clarke found herself leaning in, unconsciously pressing herself into him. She blinked, trying to focus as his hand roamed lower on her back.

"Stop that." She hissed, trying to think. Her mind was clouded by having him so close, it was as though an electric current was running along her skin everywhere they touched. She pulled back, taking his hand. She headed toward their tent, noting from the glint in his eye that whatever they were going to be doing, she doubted that there would be much talking involved.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reviews and favorites and follows I'm really glad people are enjoying this story. I'm aware that not everyone liked the pregnancy scare, and while I do apologize if it didn't come across as accurate, the lack of birth control on the show bugged me and I wanted to address it. That being said, it's not a large part of this story so if you hated that it's mostly behind us now, and if you liked it, then I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought it was plausible. Also, I'm not a big smut writer, I'm just going to admit that right now, so keep that in mind if you're expecting detailed sex scenes. I'm not sure I'll go there, but we shall see as we progress. Anyways, here is chapter 5!**

* * *

Clarke was happy. She glanced to her right, her gaze falling on Bellamy, bent over the fire. His hands were black with soot, the stick he was using to stoke the fire charred on both ends. She couldn't help the smile that tugged on her lips, and for once she didn't feel like she needed to. He looked up, as though he could feel her eyes on him, and smiled back. It was a lopsided smirk, different from the one she got when they were alone, but she didn't mind. His eyes were dark, like they always seemed to be around her, and that was enough. He stood, brushing his hands on his thighs before walking in her direction.

"Good morning." Her voice was still rough from sleep. Bellamy wasn't often gone in the morning, and from the coldness of his sheets Clarke was wondering if he had slept at all. She reached up to rub at the streak of black across his cheek. He caught her hand. "Did you sleep at all?" She felt his thumb rubbing circles across the back of her hand and took an involuntary step forward.

"Mhmm." He reached behind her, pulling her in. The world fell away, and just as she was leaning in, and up, someone tapped her on her shoulder. She sighed, her eyes flickering up to Bellamy's face. He did not look pleased. For some reason it cheered Clarke a little to see how annoyed he was with the interruption. She dropped her arms and swiveled to face whoever had tapped her. It was Finn. Her smile drooped a little, before falling away completely.

"We need to talk." His hair was shorter, Clarke noticed. She wondered briefly is Raven had cut it before being distracted by the worry in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. Who the hell was on watch last night?" Clarke shrugged, glancing backward for Bellamy. He had wandered away, but his eyes were wary, watching her.

"I don't know. Ask Will. Why?" From the way he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, she was getting the sense he was holding back something important. "Finn?"

"Look, you've been so busy mooning around with your boyfriend that you messed up." Clarke took a step back at the anger in his voice.

"Wha-"

"Murphy was here." As the words sank in, they unsettled her. She rubbed her chest anxiously. "He took a couple blankets, some rations. Not much, but he got in." Finn was leaning in, and for a moment Clarke was a little intimidated. Then she straightened, angry. She wasn't the only one in this camp, she wasn't the only person responsible for making sure it stayed safe. She was, she thought with indignation, the only one who had actually been attacked by Murphy. Just as she opened her mouth to defend herself, Bellamy appeared beside her.

"Clarke's not responsible for some kid slacking off on patrol." He looked pissed. Clarke sighed.

"Bellamy-"

"Yeah? Well someone had better be. If you two are too busy," At that Finn gave Clarke a suggestive look, "to run this camp, we'll find someone who has a little more free time." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off. Clarke rounded on Bellamy.

"I don't need you to defend me." Her eyes glinted angrily. Part of it was embarrassment. It had only been a week since she and Bellamy had gotten together, and already it was an issue with the others. They hadn't been slacking off, she knew that much. They weren't even really spending more time together, considering they had been together most of the time anyway. But somehow it was still everyone's business, open to criticism. She kicked at the ground in irritation.

"I know." Bellamy sounded surprised. He didn't look angry, nor particularly ruffled by Finn's accusations. "Clarke, you know that's coming from Finn. He's a little biased." She looked up.

"Is it true though? Do people think we're distracted?" She hadn't even wanted to be a leader. She had just wanted to make sure Bellamy didn't run them headfirst into a war they couldn't finish. Now that she felt her position was being threatened she found herself holding onto it a little too tightly.

"Maybe. If they do they're wrong." He glanced behind him, Will was standing a few feet away staring at him. "I'll ask Will if he's heard anything." He frowned at Clarke, and she knew what he was about to say.

"Fine." She cut him off before he could open his mouth. "I won't worry about it. Go talk to Will. I have stuff to do too." She waved him off, and he gave her an amused grin before jogging over to talk to the other boy. Clarke rolled her eyes. She spotted Monty waving at her from the edge of the trees. They had been working together to amass a store of medicinal plants. So far, they had been pretty successful, but they both knew winter was coming, and the plants would be gone once the snow came.

Judging from the look on his face, he had found something interesting.

She crossed the clearing, curious.

"What's up?" His smile was genuine, as always. Clarke had grown to like and respect him as they spent more time together. His knowledge of the local flora was invaluable, and on top of that he was one of the kindest people she had ever met.

"You looked like you had something to tell me." Monty nodded and gestured to a patch of bushes a few feet away. Clarke followed him. He was crouched beside a dark green plant with a curiously curled head.

"I think this is Silphium." He looked incredibly pleased with himself, and Clarke hated to disappoint him.

"Um, Monty?" He looked up at her. He reminded her of a toddler at the dessert cart of the cafeteria.

"Yeah?"

"What's Silphium?" He blinked

"Oh. Right. Sorry." She smiled patiently. "It's a plant that was supposed to have gone extinct years before the war. Like hundreds of years before. The ancient Romans were said to have used it, and it was extremely valuable. They would basically equate it to a pouch of silver coins-"

"Monty. What does it do?" Clarke cut him off, knowing that he sometimes got distracted. Just the day before she had listened to him talk about the history of a purple flower for an hour before realizing it had absolutely no useful properties. Still, it was nice to see someone being so passionate about anything to do with their situation. It was clear most of the campers still felt out of place in their surroundings. Monty seemed right at home.

"Oh. It's supposed to soothe throats and treat coughs, indigestion, warts. And it has anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties." He elaborated when she gave him a blank look. "It's a painkiller."

"Really?" Her eyes sparked with interest, thinking about how useful that could be. It could help with minor bumps and sprains that were keeping people from helping with the work around camp. "I don't think getting rid of warts is a high priority, but this is amazing. Good job." He beamed under her praise, and Clarke wondered if he had really been getting enough credit for all the work he'd done.

"That's not even the most interesting part." She quirked an eyebrow. Painkiller was definitely the most interesting part for her. She thought longingly of a good nights sleep with no back pain or aching wrists keeping her awake. "It's also a contraceptive." Clarke stared at him.

"And it works?"

"It should, yeah." She let out a whoop of glee and practically dove at him, pulling him into a hug.

"Monty, that's really good news." She let him go, holding him by his shoulders. He looked embarrassed, but pleased. "We already have 3 girls who are pregnant, we do not need anymore. I don't know how we're going to deal with those babies as it is." She sighed. "I don't know if there's anyone in this camp who's actually halfway capable of being a parent." Monty looked thoughtful.

"It's kind of nice, actually."

"What is?"

"Those kids will have an entire village to raise them." Clarke had to stifle a laugh. His optimism was endearing, and a little incredible considering their situation.

"Yeah, a village of teenage convicts." He gave her an exasperated look that was a bit unlike him. It seemed the more time they spent together the more comfortable he became. With Jasper spending most of his free time with Octavia, Monty was on his own a lot more. He was well liked around camp, but his almost constant fascination with the plant life was something the others found hard to relate to.

"Okay, well let's just enjoy this small victory for a little bit longer." Monty said dryly. Clarke nodded.

"You're right. I don't know what we would do without you." She punched him playfully on the arm. "Now, how much of this have you found? We aren't going to have a lot of time before it starts to snow. What's already grown is probably all we're going to have time to get." Monty flashed her another impish smile. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"More good news? This is a first." He pulled the plant from the ground and gestured to a patch of ferns. Clarke walked over, inspecting them.

"What am I looking for?"

"Lift the ferns back." She obliged, and saw a cluster of now familiar dark green plants. She glanced back at Monty.

"At first I thought they were just fiddleheads- you know, baby ferns- but then I realized the loci pattern was different. There are hundreds of them surrounding the camp. And-" He paused, as though for dramatic effect. Clarke leaned against a tree, waiting. "I think I might be able to rig us a green house. There was a bit of scrap plastic left after the crash and if I can salvage it, we would have a source of food through the winter." He was nearly out of breath when he finished, the words coming out in an excited whoosh. Clarke held her breath, it was almost impossible to believe they were on their way to making the winter surviveable. They still had a long ways to go, a food source wouldn't do them much good if they all froze to death, but it was a start. She pulled Monty into another tight hug.

As she pulled back, Finn's words from earlier rang in her ears.

"Can I ask you something?" Cocking his head in anticipation, Monty waited. "Do you think Bellamy and I are distracted? Like unable to keep people safe distracted?" Clarke knew he would be honest, even if he thought she wouldn't like what he had to say. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

"No, I don't. To be honest I like the two of you better as leaders together. You balance each other out. Bellamy can be a little bit, you know, act first think later, and I think you're sort of the opposite. He prompts you to action, and you'll probably talk him out of starting a war at some point." He looked at her, as though expecting her to be offended and dismiss him. She bit back a smile. It was exactly what she had wanted to hear, what she had needed to hear. She sighed.

"Thank you. For everything. You're a hero, you know that? You might just have saved everyone." He blushed, and Clarke, charmed, slung her arm across his shoulder. "Let's head back and round up some workers to help us gather some of those plants. Something tells me people will want to get their hands on those." Monty smiled, and they walked toward the wall, steps falling together.

The darkness seemed to be even more complete these days, the sun setting hours before the day's work finished. Clarke crawled into the tent she shared with Bellamy, frustrated. Though the fire provided a little light, it was difficult to continue their search for medicinal plants in the dark. They had tried, using a mixture of flashlights and torches, but the light given off had been poor, and no one wanted to risk picking the wrong plants. In addition, not many felt safe outside the walls at night. Defeated by their near blindness, the party had returned to camp.

She switched on one of their flashlights and collapsed onto the bundle of blankets, letting out an exhausted breath. The day had been productive, before the sun had set, and the growing stores of herbs and plants set off a little glow of accomplishment inside her. The progress with Monty's greenhouse had been slower, but it was still a beacon of hope for their survival. She heard the tent flap open and rolled, expecting to see Bellamy. Instead she saw Finn. She sat up in surprise, remembering the anger in his eyes just that morning.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice came out a little more hostile than she meant it to, but she felt far from guilty.

"We need to talk." Clarke groaned in frustration. She was exhausted, having spent most of the day pulling Silphium from the ground, and the rest driving sticks into the earth to set a foundation for the greenhouse. She craved sleep overwhelmingly. Not that she would be likely to get any until Bellamy came back. It was frightening how quickly one adjusted to a warm body curled around them at night, and how acutely she felt it's absence. She fought the urge to bury her face in the pillows until Finn left.

"So talk." She didn't stand, nor did she gesture for him to take a seat. She wanted the conversation to be quick. She wanted the day to be over.

"I don't think the patrol is working. More supplies have gone missing." She stiffened.

"What, today?"

"Yeah. Look, I know you think you and Bellamy, you guys have it all figured out, but you obviously don't. You're missing something." Clarke fisted her hands, rubbing the knuckles against her closed eyes in frustration.

"What, Finn? What are we missing? Do you know? Because if you just came in here to criticize me, then you can go." He was silent, staring impassively back at her. "I am doing the best I can." She hated that her voice cracked. Hated that she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Moments before she had been exhausted but content. Pleased even. She had felt that she was finally doing something that could contribute to a better way of living for everyone. And Finn, in less than a minute, had reduced her back to the feelings of inadequacy that had plagued her ever since her father had been floated. Her mother's face, stiff with disappointment in her dream, swam before her eyes.

"I'm saying do something. You wanted to be the leaders, so lead." He turned abruptly, running directly into Bellamy, who had just appeared through the tent flap. Both boys looked at each other, Finn finally ducking behind him and disappearing. Bellamy turned to look at Clarke, clearly confused.

"What the hell was he doing in here?" He sounded more exhausted than angry. After the day she's had, Clarke could relate.

"Oh, just telling me what a massive failure I am as a leader." She yawned. "The usual." She didn't necessarily feel the nonchalance in her words, but with Bellamy back she didn't feel like dwelling on it. She looked up at him, and flashed back to the week before, her practically dragging him back to the tent.

His hands had been insistent, at first, after that first kiss. And Clarke, swept up, had let them wander. Her relief at not being pregnant had left her high, and she rode that as Bellamy unzipped her jacket, her eyes never leaving his. She hadn't realized how lonely she was until she had his arms around her, the length of their bodies pressed together. She wanted to forget everything for a moment, everything bad that had happened. And she had. His hands on her stomach, fingertips tracing the scar on her side. Flicking over the stitches he had put there. It hadn't been until those fingers tangled in her belt that she had pushed him away, and had to explain that the trade-off to her not being pregnant was that they couldn't be together, not completely, not for a few days. Things between them had been tense in a way that made her shiver since then. The element of unattainability made simple touches electric.

He sat down beside her, and she leaned in, her head falling against his shoulder. For the first time in days the need for more wasn't there. The comfort of his arm as it wound around her waist, pulling her flush against him was enough. It was amazing how his presence gave her something words couldn't. The way his hand rubbed gently up and down her arm told her she wasn't a failure, not in his eyes. He didn't say it, just as there were so many other things he didn't say. But she knew, because he told her in his own way, and that was enough because it was perfectly him. She sighed.

They both lay back, settling in, and Bellamy shut off the light.

"Murphy got in again." Her voice seemed loud in the darkness.

"I know."

"We need to do something." She half hoped he would already have a plan, some answer ready to soothe her mind.

"I know."

"I'm tired." She stared blindly up into the void of the night, meaning it in a way that she wasn't sure could be conveyed in words.

"I know." His grip on her arm tightened slightly, the only comfort he could offer. He was tired too. They lay in silence after that, Clarke wondering how long they could stumble along before the universe caught them as frauds and their improvised plans, and effectively their existence, inevitably failed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So you're either a smut writer, or you're not. And I am not. So this story remains PG-13, very sorry about that, but trust me I tried and it's better this way. For those of you still with me, thank you very much, and please keep the reviews coming they have been so sweet and they make me love writing these. The delay on the update was mostly due to me trying to write a sex scene, so now that I've just decided to allude to the actual deed hopefully the updates will come quickly again. There are some more plot heavy chapters coming with some twists, I'm curious to see if anyone predicts them. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Ow." Clarke rubbed her shoulder, glaring at Bellamy. His eyes glinted in the bright sunlight, full of life. She hadn't seen him like this before. She should have known that combat training would cheer him up. "Would you stop enjoying this so much?" She shoved him, gently, and he shook his head.

"No way, princess. This is way more fun than picking ferns." He grabbed her hands, forming them into fists and holding them in front of her chest. "Now this is the position you need to hold. Stop dropping your hands. You need to protect your face." He paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's starting to grow on me." He flashed her a mischievous smile, then struck out, stopping his fist millimeters away from her stomach. "You have the reflexes of a drunk turtle." He frowned at her.

"Well, you're distracting me." She spun around, trying for something he had called a roundhouse kick. She teetered when he caught her foot, holding her like that before dropping it. She groaned in frustration. "This isn't working. You said it yourself, I have terrible reflexes." Bellamy sighed.

"Actually, you don't. I don't know why you're off your game today but you could be good at this. I don't think you want to learn." Clarke, irritated, threw a hard punch in his direction. It hit him, to her great surprise, squarely on his shoulder. He stumbled backwards, glancing up at her, his mouth an _o _of surprise. She stared, startled, waiting for him to say something. Instead, his mouth stretched into a wide grin, a chuckle escaping. "Thatta girl." She smirked, falling back into position. She threw a few more punches, Bellamy blocking all of them.

"You know what it means that Murphy was able to get back in here, again." The easiness in Bellamy's face faded, replaced by thinly veiled anger.

"Yeah. He has someone inside the camp." He stepped forward, pinning Clarke against a tree. Her breath hitched, eyes flickering up to his face. Leaning down, he cupped her cheek in his hand, capturing her lips with his. She reached up, twining her fingers into his hair. She tried to push back, but he only pressed her more insistently against the tree. She yanked, gently, on his hair, pulling his head back, and away from hers. He frowned down at her.

"Bellamy, what are you doing?" Her heart kicked as he ran his fingers down her cheek, trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath her shirt. He didn't look up, eyes firmly trained on her chest, which was being thoroughly inspected.

"What," he asked, as his hand ran across her shoulder, brushing aside her shirt to expose her collarbone. "Does it look like?" Shivering, Clarke turned her head to the side, her hair falling over her bare shoulder.

"Bellamy." His name was a murmur, meant as a protest. It came out as a moan, his hand dipping under her bra. "We can't…" She trailed off, distracted. They hadn't been together yet, at first because of her body's bad timing and then because they hadn't seemed to find time. But something had been building ever since that kiss, something she was quickly losing her hold on. Her control slipped as he lowered his mouth to her neck, pressing his lips against it. He murmured something against her neck, something that she couldn't hear, but she no longer cared. Her hands, of their own accord, slid down to his belt, tugging at the buckle. They had waited long enough.

"That," Clarke muttered, still panting, "was very stupid." Bellamy stared at her, threading his belt back into place.

"There are a lot of words I would have used, but stupid isn't one of them." She bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

"That's not what I meant. Anyone could have seen." His answering smile was wicked.

"So?" He stepped back, and Clarke felt the cold air rush in to fill his absence. She fought the urge to grab him and pull him in, closing the distance between him. She wasn't sure she liked the way it unsettled her when he wasn't near her.

"So, you're supposed to be training me to fight the grounders." She gave him a meaningful look. He shrugged.

"I was training you to fight the grounders."

"So my new strategy is to attack my opponents and take off all their clothes?" She quirked an eyebrow. "I can't wait to try that out." Bellamy's face darkened.

"You better not."

"Is that a threat?" Her tone was mocking, fists forming in the position he had taught her.

"Ha." He mimicked her stance, waiting. "Bring it on, princess."

"You know," She jabbed forward, fist hurtling toward him. "I wish you would stop calling me that." She wobbled a little on her feet, more worn out than she'd realized. "It just reminds people that I was privileged, it makes them think I'm a snob." He caught her, shaking his head.

"Actually, I think it reminds them that you're in charge." He walked behind her, poking her back to adjust her posture. Pushing down a little on her shoulders so she bent her knees, he let his fingers linger along the nape of her neck.

"Huh." A little breathless, she tried not to be distracted by the way she could feel his breath on her neck. "Does that make you my prince?" He suddenly appeared back in front of her, rolling his eyes.

"Not exactly prince material." The way he said it made it clear he didn't consider that a bad thing. Still, there was something in his eyes, something Clarke had not yet been able to get to. Something that wordlessly told her, and everyone else, that he believed he was irredeemable. She wondered when that had started to hurt her.

"No." She smirked. "You're definitely not." She cocked her head as he came at her, hands flying toward her. She dodged them all, flashing him a triumphant grin. It faltered when she noticed the mirth had gone from his face. "You're not the bad guy though." He said nothing, dropping his hands and looking away. "I know you think you are." She closed the distance between them, turning his face toward her. His eyes were sad. It was as though the sadness were tangible, seeping into her veins, running cold along her limbs. She wanted to gather him into her arms and press it away. But she knew she couldn't.

"I think I don't have enough time to make up for everything I've done. I've accepted that." He was looking at her strangely. After a moment, she realized he was wondering if she had. If she had accepted that he could never be redeemed, if she would be able to stay with someone who would never be good. It struck a chord of anger in her, one that she hadn't even realized was there. He couldn't do this forever. It had gone on long enough.

"I don't accept that, because it's crap." She dropped her hand, spinning on her heel. She paced away, searching for the words. She had never been good at condolences, never been one for comfort. She hated placating people, lying. No one asked for the truth, people wanted idealism. Clarke had been born a dreamer. When her father had been floated, she realized she couldn't afford to believe that everything would work out because it had to.

People seemed to believe that an ending meant order, a neat little package of things that had all resolved themselves. They thought peace was guaranteed. But that was a lie. The world was in a constant battle against entropy, that was the nature of the universe. Chaos. You couldn't lie back and wait for the end to be neat, whether you expected to win or lose. No one was guaranteed an easy end. If you wanted one, you had to fight for it. If you wanted your life to mean something, you had to put your whole self into that. It was easy to lie back and accept your fate.

Clarke remembered being in lockdown, in the ark. After she had been taken into custody, after her father had been floated, she had simply given herself to the system. The days had passed, she finished the mandatory school work and ate the food shoved through her barred door. Looking back, she couldn't remember a single meal, a single meaningful moment from that time. Because there hadn't been any. When she had let time be the constant in her life, the only thing that was present in her mind, she had turned to vapour. She had ceased to exist. Because Clarke, as she had been before, was no longer there. The ghost that sat in that cell for sixty days resembled her only in appearance.

One day her mother had come to visit. Being on the council, Abbie managed to get in to see Clarke at least once a week. The first time she had ever visited there had been a despair in her eyes that burned Clarke, the pain was enough to leave a scar on her heart that had only encouraged her mindless passing of time. There was nothing she could do for her mother from behind bars, and so nothing was what she chose to do.

The visit that had catalyzed her change had been unmemorable. Abbie had come, stood outside Clarke's cell and handed her some charcoal, so she could draw. Usually, it would not have been allowed, but Jaha seemed to feel he owed her a debt for the death of her husband, so he turned a blind eye. Clarke had thanked her mother, tucking it away without any intention of using it. There had been nothing inside her that had anything to give to that charcoal. She had been unable to express anything that she felt, too paralyzed by the feeling that she was powerless. Her father had been executed and she couldn't stop it. The entire population of the ark was going to die if they weren't able to repair it, and no one knew. She couldn't do anything about that, either. She had decided it didn't really matter what she did anymore. She had accepted her fate. There had never been any real fear that upon her hearing on her 17th birthday that she would be floated, not with Abbie still on the council. But it had never mattered to her what would happen once she was released. It had been days before drawing had begun to tug at her, cutting through the static in her head. But it had.

She'd picked up the charcoal and pressed it to the wall, and it was like something inside her had come back to life. The sketches had been nothing at first, just traces of the things her life before had left in her mind. Then other things had started coming out. Images of the ground. Things that she had never seen. Drawing hadn't changed anything, not really. Her father was still dead, and she was still in jail. But somehow, she had worked out that she still had time. Seeing a world that had ended coming out of her fingertips had reminded her that what she was hadn't ended. She could still keep going, make the second half of her life worth the first. She looked at Bellamy and she saw herself. He thought what he was was set in stone, that he couldn't be anything other than what he had been. But Clarke knew he was wrong, she had proved to herself that people could change. She faced him, fighting the urge to grab him and shake him.

"Do you want to change?" He gave her an exasperated look. "So change. That's all you can do, that's all anyone can do. Everyone has something they're trying to make up for. Stop acting like you're different from everyone else." She tried to push past him, still annoyed, but he caught her arm as she walked by.

"Clarke, I-" She glanced back at him, the breath nearly knocked out of her at the look on his face. She had never seen him look at anyone that intensely. Not even Octavia.

"Yeah?" She waited, wondering if he would say it. He let her go. She stifled the sigh and gave him a weak smile. "I'll see you later." Walking away, she fought the twinge inside her. Ridiculous. Ridiculous that she should be disappointed that he didn't say it. She wasn't really sure what she felt, other than an alarming sense of codependence. Still, in the moment she had hoped for it. It would be nice to have someone love her. She didn't have any family, not anymore. She had Bellamy, and her friends, and really that was all anyone had. But she saw the way Raven looked at Finn, and she couldn't help but want that for herself.

A few weeks passed, and Murphy managed to get into camp twice more. Clarke was completely at a loss as to how he was doing it. They had doubled the patrol, and tensions had risen high enough to guarantee everyone on patrol was taking it seriously. The others were beginning to question Clarke and Bellamy's authority, and the threat of an uprising was the last thing they needed with winter finally beginning to creep in. The plants, and the ground, were covered in a thin layer of frost, steam rising from the earth as the early morning sun rose a little higher in the sky. Tents were beginning to be combined, the added heat of a few extra bodies keeping the campers from freezing at night. Still, Clarke knew they needed a plan. This cold was nothing compared to what was coming.

"You look serious." The voice came from behind her, and Clarke started. She turned to see Evelyn beside her, the tips of her fingers stained purple. Clarke raised an eyebrow. Evelyn followed her gaze down and sighed.

"Oh. Yeah. Monty finally found the other plant he needed to make that dye. It's official." She waggled her fingers in front of her. "I'm knocked up." Clarke sighed. She had dodged a bullet there, but not all the girls had been as lucky.

"I don't know whether to say congratulations or I'm sorry." Evelyn's lips quirked.

"I don't think it matters." The girls stayed like that, in comfortable silence. Evelyn had been coming to see Clarke weekly, not that Clarke really knew what she was looking for. Still, the girls had grown closer, and while they weren't necessarily friends, things were less hostile than before.

"How are you feeling?" Clarke glanced over at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes.

"I'm okay." She stared straight ahead, looking lost. "For now. When the baby's actually here I-" She shut her eyes, steadying herself. "What am I going to do? I'm seventeen, and we're living on a planet soaked in radiation, and there are crazy homicidal natives out to get us, and there isn't a responsible adult on this planet that can help me." Her voice shook. Clarke grabbed her hand.

"You know what Monty said to me the other day?" Evelyn shook her head.

"He said that this baby would have a village to raise it." She smiled despite herself. Evelyn's face softened, a whisper of a smile.

"A village of teenage criminals." Clarke burst out laughing, shaking her head at the look Evelyn gave her.

"That's exactly what I said. But we're not all so bad. Monty's a good guy."

"What about Bellamy?" Evelyn's voice was quiet. Clarke frowned, wondering if she should answer. She wasn't going to fight his battles for him, he wouldn't have wanted her to. Still, she was tired of people tearing into him.

"He's a good guy too. He just doesn't know it yet." She dropped Evelyn's hand, started walking away. Evelyn called after her.

"Clarke." Clarke sighed and paused, waiting. "What did you do? What did they send you down here for?" Her voice was genuinely curious, and it surprised Clarke that there were still people who didn't know her story. Then again, the council had kept it quiet so the news about the ark's failing systems wouldn't get out.

"Treason." She turned her back to Evelyn, suddenly tired of the other girl's questions. People were always comparing themselves to others, collecting information so they could see how they stacked up. Clarke wondered what Evelyn saw when she tallied her life with Clarke's. Who came out as the better person in her eyes.

The sun was beginning to set when Clarke made her way over to the fire. It was cold during the day, but once the sun was gone a chill set in that cut straight to the bone. She was bundled in the flannel Bellamy had given her, along with a long sleeve tunic and her jacket. It was nowhere near enough to be out at night. An arm fell across her shoulders, and Bellamy's familiar scent drifted in. She sighed.

"There are five girls who are definitely pregnant." She turned toward him pressing her frozen face into his chest. "Monty finally found the other plant he needed to make the dye." Bellamy made a small noise of frustration.

"Sometimes I don't know what we're hoping to do down here. We can't solve problems faster than they come." He tightened his grip on Clarke, squeezing her gently. She couldn't help the small noise of satisfaction. She could feel the vibrations of his laughter through his jacket. It struck her that she didn't think she could do this without him.

"You know these girls keep showing up, telling me they're pregnant and I feel like I'm just waiting for one of the kids to be yours." She bit her lip, the words had blurted out before she could stop them. They were true, it had been on her mind ever since Evelyn had come to her the first time. She had held her tongue because Bellamy had been so supportive when she thought it was her who was pregnant. But it was out in the open now. She pulled back to look at his face. He looked a little indignant.

"How many girls do you think I slept with?" His voice was incredulous, which Clarke hardly thought was fair.

"A lot? I'm not judging you, I'm just saying the math is not in our favour." Something in his face changed. Clarke held her breath, afraid he thought she was out of line.

"Our favour?" The look on his face was thoughtful, not angry. Unsure of where he was headed, she nodded slowly. "Not mine?" She suddenly realized what he was asking.

"We're in this together, aren't we?" She almost wished she hadn't asked. Had she been presumptuous to assume he would want her involved in his life? She had been so certain that he was her partner, that she wanted him with her no matter what happened that she hadn't stopped to consider he might not feel the same. She flashed back to the other day, the way he had hesitated and she had been sure he was going to tell her that he loved her. Maybe that was not what this was for him. Suddenly, he leaned down, pulling her into a deep kiss. She sighed into it, her body fitting easily around his, as though it was meant for that purpose alone. When he pulled away, she blinked up at him.

"Yeah." His voice was barely a murmur, and the roughness of it had Clarke fisting her hands a little tighter in his jacket, not allowing him to pull farther away. "We're in this together."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Wow, okay sorry this took so long, I had school coupled with major writers block. Anyways, this chapter is on the long side so hopefully it makes up for the wait. To be honest there are aspects of this story I thought I was being sneaky about that some of you guessed in your reviews, so that's sort of amazing. Or maybe I wasn't being that subtle. Either way, good job! I hope you like this chapter, and where the story's heading. Remember, reviews are my sustenance, please sustain me.

* * *

Things had been tense for days, people were cold and the cold made them edgy and that edginess was beginning to spread like a contagion. The camp couldn't go on with everyone one wrong look away from hysteria. If that were to happen, Clarke would lose control, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to get it back. Sometimes she felt the ache in her neck, her body protesting the stress in her shoulders, pulling her muscles taut like she were going into battle. It was exhausting. Bellamy wasn't coping much better than her, his mood deteriorating with every passing night, the frost coming thicker each morning. If they hadn't had each other, Clarke wondered whether they would have the strength to prop up the camp. As it was, their leadership was a farce. There was little they could do about the cold, and left to the elements their group would die of exposure within the week. Clarke looked up as Bellamy dropped onto the ground beside her, his hands held out to the fire. They looked white to the point of alarm, and she grabbed them, covering his with her own.

"Your hands are freezing." Bellamy said nothing, a noise of satisfaction rumbling in his throat as she rubbed his fingers between her palms. He reminded her of the cat that had been the ark's mascot for years, until the oxygen system had begun to fail and they had decided to get rid of all unnecessary animals. She hadn't known that was why at the time though, no one had. They had been told the cat stowed away in the maintenance bay, eventually being accidentally released into space when the zero g mechanics had gone out for maintenance. Most of the warmth gone from her own hands, Clarke pulled Bellamy's hands under her shirt, gasping as his frozen skin touched her stomach. He shot her a wicked grin and she rolled her eyes. "I'm just trying to get you warm. The last thing I need is for you to lose your fingers to frostbite." His grin widened.

"Yeah, you seem to like my hands." She smacked him, hard enough to elicit a wince. He pulled his hands back, staggering to his feet.

"Take some mittens this time." Bellamy curled his lip, the sneer unbecoming on his face.

"Even I look stupid wearing mittens." He leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before turning toward the greenhouse. She called after him, unsure whether she was more amused than annoyed.

"You'll look stupider with no fingers!" He waved his hand without looking back, and Clarke sighed, shaking her head. As stubborn as he was, she knew Bellamy would eventually come back and get the mittens as his hands started to freeze. He was a bit of a masochist, but he wasn't stupid. She pushed herself reluctantly to her feet, shivering as the cold air assailed her body where she had been curled in on herself. She rubbed hard at her arms, but the friction didn't help much. They didn't have much time left to find a way to keep warm, winter wasn't coming; it was here.

Grabbing a pair of mittens from the basket they kept beside the fire, she slid her hands into them, sighing at the warmth. It had been Liam, a son of one of the butchers on the ark, who had taught them how to tan animal skins and make mittens. They were warm, and relatively waterproof after they had been covered in beeswax and heated over the fire. Still, there weren't nearly enough to go around, and since they took weeks to dry and tan, it would be a while before more could be made. Bellamy had decided to keep the mittens in a basket by the fire, a communal resource that could be borrowed and returned.

She headed for a patch of forest where she had seen a ring of mushrooms the day before. Monty had been worried that with all the time they were spending in the drop ship the lack of vitamin D would eventually become a problem. His vast knowledge of the local plant life had come in handy once again, and he had assigned Clarke to the task of collecting mushrooms and lichen, which were an alternative source of the vitamin. She felt a small flutter of satisfaction upon seeing the small brown bumps protruding out of the soil. With new problems arising from all directions, she had learned to appreciate the small victories. She knelt down and began plucking the mushrooms from the soil, stowing them in the makeshift backpack slung across her back. Intently focused as she followed the line of fungi across the ground, she didn't see the muddy bank as it fell away before her.

One foot reached forward, finding nothing, and she jerked forward, rolling down the slope. She curled inwards, trying to protect her head as her body hit tree after tree. The ground finally evened out and she rolled to a stop, gasping with pain. It was difficult to stand with the wind knocked out of her and the throbbing in her limbs, but she climbed unsteadily to her feet. The world spun around, and she closed her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. When she opened her eyes, the trees seemed to be stationary for the most part, so she took a few hesitant steps forward.

The forest surrounding her was unfamiliar, in the way trees in a forest filled with trees could be. There was nothing that struck recognition in her, and she bit her lip. She had lost track of time as she fell, but a quick glance up the nearly sheer face of the bank told her it hadn't been a long one. The slope was too steep to even attempt to climb, she could tell just by looking. She eyed the tree closest to her, but doubted that even if she did climb it that she could make the jump onto the plateau at the top. Her mind began to turn over, searching for another way up. She scanned the forest instinctually, her ears straining to make sure her fall hadn't attracted any unwanted attention. Her preoccupation with the mushrooms had lead her farther from camp than she'd realized, and she wasn't sure if yelling for help would attract the cavalry or the grounders. Deciding it was safer not to risk it, she began walking along the hill, looking for a spot she could climb.

There was nothing. Beginning to feel trapped, she stopped. She couldn't keep walking, she would just end up even farther from camp. Pushing her hair away from her face, she stopped when she felt wetness. She lowered her hands and bit her lip when she realized they were covered in blood. Though most of her body was sore, her head felt alright, and Clarke couldn't decide if that should worry her more or less. The sun filtering down through the trees did little to stave off the chill of winter, and she shivered. The angle of the light told her the sun wouldn't be up for much longer, and she didn't relish the idea of being lost outside camp after dark. She rubbed her hands along her arms, ignoring the smears of blood it left on her sleeves. A light breeze picked up, wafting a scent towards her that she didn't recognize.

For some reason she couldn't quite comprehend, the air smelled different. Most of the forest she had encountered so far smelled distinctly of earth and flora, sometimes varying a little where the plants changed. But something about the air that blew toward her was different, almost musty. Ignoring the many unpleasant aspects to living outdoors, the boundless fresh air was a plus. The towering masses of trees and plant life kept the air fresh, and with the winter coming, crisp. This was wrong, unnatural for it's setting. Clarke attempted to follow the stream of sour air, squinting in concentration.

She was so focused she walked straight into a tree, swearing when her forehead collided with the solid wood. It knocked her sideways, and while she expected to stumble hard into the cliff face, she kept falling. The mustiness in the air grew suddenly stronger, and her eyes, which had closed upon impact with the tree, shot open. It took them a moment to adjust to the dimness. Her head swiveled round, taking in the rough gray stone surrounding her. The sour smell was stronger here, she didn't have to strain to catch it, it filled the air around her. It wasn't really unpleasant, just different, and she peered toward the back of the cave, which she was now realizing was what she had stumbled into. It faded off into blackness, a darkness her eyes couldn't begin to break through. She reached down, and was relieved to find the flashlight she had stowed in her boot was still there, unbroken.

As it flickered on with a small buzz, light filled the cave, and Clarke gasped at what she saw. The caves were covered in small pink blossoms, fuzzy green foliage clumped between the flowers. It gave the walls an appearance of softness, contrasting with the hard gray rock nearer the mouth of the cave. She followed the flowers, they seemed to be growing out from the back of the cave, the farther back she went the more plentiful the blooms. As she continued on, and the plants became even thicker, she noticed the musty smell fading away. Intrigued, it didn't cross her mind that the cave could house something dangerous, and she lost herself in the novelty of her surroundings.

It wasn't until the ground, once again, fell away beneath her feet that she realized how careless she had been. The drop was a short one, and she fell on something soft and spongy.

"Ouch," She muttered to herself, irritated. "I need to stop doing that." Her mouth, having set in a tense line, fell open as she looked up, finding something she had never seen, not even in pictures.

A massive underground lake reflected light from a hole in the ceiling, some kind of accidental skylight. Natural pathways of stone wound around and through the water, some seeming to go all the way across. To her left she saw something hovering above the water, a cloud. Looking down, Clarke realized she had fallen on a bed of moss. She glanced curiously at the vapor in the air, stepping tentatively closer, and watching her step. The water was clear, and with the light filling the cave she could see almost completely to the bottom, but memories of the river monster from their first day on the ground stayed at the front of her mind. As she neared the cloud she realized it was steam. A now familiar sour scent ghosted through the air as she came up to it, and she stared at the water in front of her. It was separated from the main lake by a thick wall of rock, and the water itself was different. It lacked the crystalline clarity of the other water, not because it was dirty, but because it was bubbling. Clarke reached out, dipping her finger in the water. It was warm, hot almost.

"Oh my god." She stepped back, mindful not to lose her footing and fall into the lake. She couldn't tear her eyes off of the burbling pool in front of her. It was a natural hot spring. She unzipped her jacket, starting to sweat in the warmer air of the cave. As she did so, she lost her balance on the narrow jut of rock, and fell forward. The flashlight she was still holding flew out of her reach, landing about fifteen feet away on a connected path. She sighed, thankful it hadn't landed in the lake. She crawled forward as the path got narrower. It was wide enough to support her, but with the luck she was having she didn't want to risk it. The ground underneath her suddenly flared out, stone replacing water in a wide, flat floor.

Clarke clambered to her feet and felt an unfamiliar rush of lightness in her chest. The back part of the cave was mostly stone, a short stretch of sandy beach leading into a space that could fit her entire camp, times ten. The space was lit by a similar natural skylight to the one above the lake, and the warmth that seemed to come straight from the ground kept the stone from being cold. It was a break, an unbelievably lucky break, the kind that Clarke never thought she could catch. It was life. The light that had been filtering in was changing, and she realized the sun had gone down, the silvery light that now filled the cave was moonlight.

With a pang, she thought of Bellamy, he was probably worried. Still, she didn't know how she was going to get over that ridge to get back to camp, and she doubted that trying in the dark would help her much. Instead, she sat with a sigh on a large bed of moss, leaning her head back against the cave wall.

Ignoring the fact that she probably had a concussion, she let the gentle lapping of the waves against the sand lull her to sleep. The thought that they could finally stop living in fear of freezing to death traced a smile across her face, holding it there until the last dregs of her exhausted consciousness let go.

Clarke woke to an unfamiliar sound. It was closer to the mechanical thrum of the ark than she was used to, closer than the waking sounds of camp. She opened her eyes, squinting at the light, then groaning as her body began to wake up. She was certain she was bruised from head to toe, her limbs protesting as she struggled to her feet. The events of the day before came rushing back, and her eyes widened. As though expecting it to have disappeared in the night, she swiveled her head, taking in the same breathtaking scene as before. In the early light of the morning it was even more beautiful than she remembered. The sunlight bounced off the water in a shimmer, the stone pathways cutting through it like ink on a page. She let out a breath.

Feeling lightheaded from what she suspected was a mild concussion combined with hunger, Clarke walked back to the opening she had fallen through to find the lake. It was only a small ledge, probably raised two feet from the floor. She climbed into it, squinting down the tunnel she had come through the night before.

While the cavern was filled with natural light behind her, the tunnel leading to the mouth of the cave was without it, and the absolute blackness reminded her of space. She switched on her flashlight, the small bulb giving her a few feet of light. With a small amount of reluctance, she started forward, leaving the lake behind.

Just as she was beginning to wonder how long the cave went on, she saw the beginnings of light in front of her. It was barely a glow, but it grew as she pressed on, and she finally emerged into the forest with a sense of relief. The tunnel wasn't narrow, but something about having negative space on either side of you while surrounded by that darkness was unnerving. She had been half expecting a grounder to suddenly appear out of the shadows.

Having found her way out, Clarke was faced with the same dilemma as the day before. She stared up at the cliff face, frowning. There had to be a way up. She began to pace, thinking. It seemed like hours as she lost herself in thought, sizing up trees and the angle of the cliff. Thinking the drop had seemed less steep where she had initially fallen, Clarke marked the cave by breaking off branches of the trees as she walked by. She took two branches off the trees as she walked back, laying them down in a railroad pattern. If anyone came by this way, they would see them. She only hoped that it would be her people that found it first.

Her feet ached by the time she found the spot she landed. She only recognized it by the pair of deer-hide mittens lying beside a small puddle of blood. Clarke reached up absently to touch her head, wincing as her fingers brushed it. Whatever she had done to it, she knew it needed to be cleaned. But all the supplied were in camp, and they were of no use to her while she was stranded at the bottom of the drop. Her ears caught the strains of something that sounded familiar, and her neck cracked as her head snapped upwards to scan the plateau. Then the sound came again.

"Clarke!" It was a voice, a male one. Not deep enough to be Bellamy's, but familiar. "Clarke, are you out here?" Monty. She closed her eyes in relief. Things had been looking bleak for the past few hours, Clarke had many skills, but none of them would help her up a cliff with no climbing gear. She had been stuck, and she had known it. Giving up was not in her nature, but she couldn't say it hadn't crossed her mind.

"Monty?" Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and it suddenly felt like weeks that she'd been lost. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm down here. I fell." His head popped over the edge of the cliff, and he stared down at her. With Monty to use for scale, Clarke figured the drop was about 15 feet. She had rolled on her way down, but looking at it now she was surprised gravity hadn't pulled her straight to the bottom. Maybe she had a guardian angel after all. Monty's face lit up, a smile cracking across it.

"Hey." His voice was decidedly casual. Clarke laughed. "How's it going?" Looking at his face, this person she would never have befriended had it not been for the life and death circumstances of the ark, she felt a flutter of happiness. He was going to be alright. They all were. The winter wouldn't take them.

"Oh, you know." She fought to match his cavalier attitude despite the storm of emotion inside her. "I was collecting some mushrooms and fell off a cliff. The usual." Monty's smile dropped off, a look of concern replacing it.

"You okay?" Clarke nodded, nearly rolling her eyes at the irony when the movement sent a wave of pain through her head.

"Mostly. I'm kind of stuck." She gestured toward the wall of dirt and rock separating them, and Monty nodded.

"I'll go get something to pull you up with. Hang tight." Clarke nodded again, this time a little smaller. It hurt less. She sat back on the ground, using the mittens as a pillow against the tree behind her. She stared at the trail she'd left, the branches lying in the dirt in a path that continued on after her eyes lost them. They were so close. The answer was in front of them, and they were so close to being home free she could taste it. But the months on the ground had taught her that there was no such thing as a sure thing, and that bad things happened when good things were supposed to. She might be a little paranoid, but if she was she thought it was warranted. They needed to get to that cave. Once they were there, it would be real, and Clarke could stop worrying that the whole thing was a hallucination brought on by hitting her head.

"Clarke?" This time it wasn't Monty. She closed her eyes, suddenly tired and sad and the fear that she would be stuck down here until the grounders showed up flared in her chest before ebbing away. It was always like that with Bellamy. She knew what she was she afraid of, she just didn't feel helpless anymore. She looked up to see him peering down at her. The concern was all over his face, and for the first time Clarke wondered what she looked like. He was probably getting a good view of the blood dried in her hair, and if the bruises on her hands and arms were anything to go by, her face was probably just as bad.

"Hi." Her voice didn't falter, even though her heart did. She wasn't sure she had ever been so glad to see him. "You here to rescue me?" He laughed, and it was like a warm embrace, familiar and comforting. She smiled in response.

"You don't need rescuing, princess. This isn't a tower." She quirked her lips at the reference. They hadn't saved a lot of books, but they had kept a few of the fairy tales, and everyone on the ark had known them. She did need rescuing, and she would have been annoyed at that aspect of their relationship if she hadn't been so happy to see him. He needed her too, and she knew that. Being that danger was as certain in their lives as the sun setting at night, she was sure he would need a little rescuing too. She would wait.

A cable hurled over the edge, and she jumped back in surprise. It was long enough that it coiled in a pile on the ground in front of her. She looked up to see Bellamy holding the other end. He disappeared from her view, then reappeared empty handed.

"Okay." His voice carried well, the depth piercing the air. Hers didn't carry nearly as well. She had to shout over the wind as it began to pick up.

"Am I supposed to climb up with that?" She eyed the rope a little nervously. She wasn't sure she had the upper body strength for that, and she didn't feel like making the fall a second time.

"No." Above her, Bellamy shook his head. "Tie that around you like a harness. We'll pull you up." Clarke watched him skeptically. She had lost a bit of weight since coming to the ground, and having been small to begin with she knew she was skinny. Still, the fat had been replaced by muscle and for that she was probably heavier than before. Add gravity to that, and Bellamy was going to have a hell of a time getting her up that cliff. He saw her expression and rolled his eyes. "I'm not pulling you up on my own, we have a pulley rigged on a tree." Clarke sighed and tied the cable around her. She tried to lean back as it tightened around her, ignoring that it began to cut into her hips painfully.

The journey up was much slower, though not more enjoyable, than the journey down had been. Still, when she got to the top and managed to get the harness off, she threw herself at Bellamy. He caught her, surprised.

"Woah, you okay?" He pulled back, studying her. She saw his eyes cloud over a bit as he took in the blood on her forehead and the bruises on her skin, but he didn't say anything about either.

"I'm better than that." He stared uncomprehendingly back at her. "Bellamy, I found an underground hot spring. It's part of a massive cave. There's water, and it's warm, really warm." He gave her a concerned look, reaching out to touch her face.

"Clarke, you fell off a cliff, are you sure you didn't pass out and dream that?" She swatted his hand away in irritation.

"No, listen, I know what I saw. There's a cave with all these pink flowers, and this kind of underground lake…" She trailed off, taking in the look of pity on his face. He didn't believe her. She groaned in frustration, wrenching herself out of his arms. As she turned away she caught sight of Monty, his expression one she hadn't expected.

"The flowers, what did the leaves look like?" His voice was low, tinged with disbelief. Clarke frowned.

"Uh, they were fuzzy. Like sort of hairy." She shrugged, remembering the way it had made the walls look like they were made of the crawling vines, instead of the hard, cold stone. Monty's mouth fell open, and Clarke started toward him in concern.

"Monty, are you alright?" He shook his head, at the same time a smile spread across his face.

"I'm better than that." He breathed, echoing Clarke's earlier words. She stared at him. He believed her.

"You believe me." The words caught in her throat. She needed it, badly. She needed the verification that what she had seen was real, and it could save everyone. His answering grin was blinding.

"Those flowers, they're called Pilea cavernicola. They're some of the only flowering plants that grow in caves. Yeah," He said, his eyes wide as though he still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. "I believe you." Clarke grabbed him, pulling him into a crushing hug that she was sure hurt both of them. As she released him, she turned back to Bellamy, who was rolling his eyes at her display of affection.

"We have to go back down." Bellamy shook his head.

"If we go down there, Monty wouldn't be able to get us back up on his own." Clarke stared up at him, pleading.

"Please, Bellamy." He eyed her for a moment, then sighed.

"Could I stop you?" She shook her head.

"You know you couldn't. But I want you to see it first." He groaned, then bent down to press a quick kiss to her lips. The day without him had been a long one, and her body reacted to his touch a little more intensely than she expected. She wrapped an arm around him, pulling him back in, and it wasn't until Monty cleared his throat that she broke away, embarrassed.

"Okay." Bellamy was a little breathless but he nodded down at her, not looking away from her face. "We have to go back to camp to get someone else to pull us back up." He ran his hand down her arm, before turning back to Monty. "Leave the cable there, so we can find this spot." Monty nodded.

The walk back to camp was not as long as Clarke expected, but that might have had more to do with having Bellamy close by. Still, she couldn't shake the nervous energy that accompanied her impatience. She wanted to move everyone into that cave. She wanted them to be safe.

In the end they found three older boys to stay on top of the cliff and keep watch for grounders. Clarke, Bellamy, Monty and Jasper were to retrace her original path to the cave. Octavia wanted to come too, but Bellamy wanted her to stay inside the wall. They lowered themselves down the cliff using the rope, and began following the track of branches.

"You know," Clarke started, knowing she was only asking for trouble. "It's not that much safer inside the wall with us gone." Bellamy glared at her.

"They have the numbers, and so far the grounders have kept out of our territory. I already have to keep an eye on you, I don't need another distraction." It was Clarke's turn to huff angrily.

"I don't need a babysitter Bellamy. I can take care of myself." He rolled his eyes.

"I leave you alone for a few hours and you fall off a cliff. I wouldn't call those great survival skills." Clarke fumed silently for a while, wrenching her hand out of the way when he reached for it. Finally, she opened her mouth.

"I also happened to find a massive cave that could keep us all from freezing to death." Bellamy muttered something under his breath. "What?" Clarke stopped, and he bumped into her. "What did you say?"

"I said we'll see about that." Exasperated, Clarke threw her hands in the air, storming past Jasper and Monty who were looking both uncomfortable and entertained. She ignored them, spotting the cluster of pink flowers she had left just outside the mouth of the cave.

"It's here." She turned back the boys, jittery with anticipation. "Come on." She disappeared through the opening, which was only about 8 feet tall, wide enough to fit all four of them comfortably. She switched on her flashlight and heard the others do the same behind her. As light flooded the cave they fell silent, and she reveled in it a little. She turned around to find Monty nearly plastered to the wall, his face inches from the flowers. She giggled, the sound echoed and sounded foreign to her ears. She had never been a giggler.

"Clarke." Monty tore himself away from the wall long enough to stare at her, eyes wide. "This is incredible. These flowers were so rare before the war no one even believed they existed. Nothing is supposed to grow in caves. What you found… the odds are one in a million." Jasper just nodded. Bellamy said nothing, and Clarke ignored him.

"This is nothing. Wait until you see the lake." She fought the urge to run down the tunnel, remembering falling time after time the day before. Instead, she headed down it at a slow walk, watching her step. She could hear footsteps behind her, and she jumped down when she reached the ledge without a word. There were three muffled thuds as the others did the same, and the silence fell again, this time even thicker. The quiet lapping of waves and the bubbling of the spring kept it from being deafening, but Clarke got the distinct feeling they were holding their breath. She couldn't blame them. It was a sight to behold. The light shimmered and flickered against the walls, and the stone silhouettes cutting through the lake were almost beautiful.

Something brushed her hand and she jumped. Strong fingers curled around hers, between them. Bellamy gripped her hand tightly.

"Clarke." He whispered it in her ear, and she could feel his wonder. She just squeezed his hand. Jasper let out a long low breath, ending in a curse.

"This is… this is unbelievable." He stared around the cave, wandering toward the hot spring.

"No." Monty looked over at his friend, a smile of pure joy lighting up his face. "This is salvation."


End file.
